Excuse My French
by Master of The Blood Wolves
Summary: An Australian man involved in a time travel experiment accidentally ends up in an alternate history where dragons exist. Stony broke, and with only a hazy idea of what he was supposed to do in the first place, he joins the British Aerial Corps.
1. Chapter 1

**Excuse My French**

Chapter I

There is no Frickin' _Way_…

**Disclaimer: I do not own the **_**Temeraire **_**series.**

**Foreword****: I honestly can't believe no one has ever attempted this sort of story before.  
****Yes, Naomi Novik has written this series in a way that discourages most Fanfiction writers, but all it means is that it takes a certain degree of skill to do it well.  
****So, I just hope that I don't make too much of a mess of this.**

**Feel free to let me know if I'm making an ass of myself with this, and please, if an original character in this becomes (or is in danger of becoming) a Sue\Stu let me know before I get too far into this.**

**Also, I've noticed that I don't do a lot of normal Fanfictions.  
****Indeed, my two other normal stories are preludes to a crossover series.  
****So, this'll be interesting to say the least.**

**Now, without further ado, release the anachronistic Original Character!**

* * *

'…The hell?' Groaned Nathan King, pushing himself up.  
Something hard impacted with the back of his head and he passed out again.

* * *

He came around slowly, blinked, then blinked again.

Somewhere to his left was the sound of sloshing water.  
Above his head was the sound of creaking wood, as well as muffled voices speaking in…French?

'Where the bloody hell am I? The Caribbean?' Nathan said to himself, and sat up and rubbed his chin. The beard on his chin told him he'd been out for roughly three days.  
He blinked again, then rubbed the grit from his eyes, and finally, his eyes adjusted to the gloom.

The first thing he noticed was that there was a guard fallen asleep next to the door.  
The second was the rifle leaning against a beam in arm's reach of the guard.  
_Is this guy _acting? Nathan asked himself.  
There was absolutely _no way_ anyone doing a guard duty would be _that _stupid.  
It was practically begging 'please break out.'

Suddenly, somewhere above was a thunderous noise of shattering wood.  
The guard jerked to his feet, and took off up the steps, snagging his rifle in his rush.

Nathan thought furiously.  
Just what was going on?  
He'd been hiking…where again?  
Something had happened…and he'd wanted to be a part of it…  
So he'd volunteered…  
What had it been again?  
Something to do with time travel…

He sat up, remembering:  
He'd come home from hiking in the Australian Alps to find in his absence that a research team in Switzerland had figured out how to make time travel work, and had been looking for people willing to help in their tests.  
He'd immediately packed his bags and headed for Switzerland to volunteer.

Further recollection was dispelled as he heard the distinct sound of fighting break out on the deck above.  
_Shit, I don't know when I am in time, that could be Black Beard for all I know._ Nathan thought, and immediately wished he had a weapon.

Well, he had those couple of years of martial arts he'd done back in high school, but he didn't fancy going up against pirates with cutlasses and flintlocks, even if aforementioned guns _were_ primitive.

_If only they hadn't taken my pack…_ Nathan thought, then spied he the aforementioned hiking pack dumped atop a palette of barrels a little further down the hall.  
Now he just needed a way out of the cell.

He thought for a moment, then noticed the bench he was sitting on.  
He looked at the door.  
_There is no frickin' _way_…_

* * *

As it turned out, for once Hollywood had not, in fact, been telling a _complete_ load of bullshit in regards to opening cell doors with leverage and the proper application of strength.  
Only, in this case Nathan was forced to extract the bench, and then kick the door down.

Having done this, he scrambled over to his pack and opened the main pocket, and there, right at the top was the Sig-Sauer he'd been given for self-defence purposes.  
He was grateful he'd been forced to drill with it so much, because now it meant he knew how to use it.

He cautiously ascended the steps, and came out onto what he recognised as a gun-deck.  
It was deserted.  
He crept quickly down the centre isle.

About halfway up the isle, a man with a drawn cutlass appeared down the stairs and stopped abruptly upon seeing Nathan keeping low in the middle of the isle.  
Nathan saw the man as well, and immediately took cover behind one of the cannons, training his gun on the man.  
'Carver, what's got you transfixed there? There can't be any spiders so far out at sea.' Said an authoritative voice, in English, the accent undeniably British.

The man, Carver, looked back up the stairs, still keeping one eye on Nathan, who used the distraction to climb over the cannon, and take cover behind the next gun in line.  
'There's another one down here, I think 'e thinks 'e can pin us here with just a pistol, sir.' He called, also in a pronounced British accent.  
'Who're you with? Navy, or are you pirates?' Nathan called over the cannon, keeping his gun trained on the man's chest.  
'Who d'you think you're calling a pirate there?' Demanded the man. 'I am a midshipman in His Majesty's Navy, and you will surrender like the rest of your shipmates.'  
'Do I _sound _like a Frenchman to you?' Nathan called back derisively. 'Those assholes knocked me out and threw me in the brig. I just woke up five minutes ago, and then you came and boarded this tub, so I decided I'd try and find myself a weapon just in case you were less-then-legit.'  
'Surrender, we've got you outnumbered fifty to one.' The man called back.  
'I'll come out if you promise not to harm me, and if your commander agrees to give me a fair hearing.' Nathan called back.  
'Are seriously trying to negotiate in your position?' The man asked incredulously.

'Oh, for the love of-' Abruptly, Nathan stood and walked back into the open with his hands in the air. 'I'm coming out, and I'm not with the French, check the brig if you don't believe me.' Nathan said.

The man still had his sword pointed at Nathan's chest.  
Nathan flicked the safety on his pistol to on, then slipped it into his belt.  
The sailor didn't lower his sword.  
'Come up slowly,' he said flatly.

Nathan complied, but as he came into the sun, he flicked a quick glance upward.  
He was rather surprised to not find a blunt object or sharp edge descending towards his head.

The deck was awash with blood, and the dead and exhausted men of the ship were lying sprawled on the deck, with another ship pulled alongside, and a cursory glance revealed it was in better order than the one he'd evidently spent the past few days on.

Nathan noticed more than one person giving him curious looks.  
He stood a couple of inches taller than most of them, and in tan cargo pants, a white skivvy and work boots, he looked decidedly more casual and civilian.  
And very out of place.  
He resisted the urge to squint against the sun, and kept surveying the deck.

He crossed his arms and stood to the side of the hatch to wait while the sailor hurried up to have a word with a man about his height with sun-bleached hair, and wearing a truly impressive blue coat, which was currently specked with blood.  
The coated man looked over to where Nathan stood with his arms crossed, then his attention was diverted by another man.

They held a hurried conversation, then they headed down the ladder at the other end of the deck.  
Evidently there was something else on this ship more interesting than an oddly-dressed prisoner that had managed to break out of his cell.  
_The cursed Aztec gold of Cortez, perhaps? Or is it the heart of Davey Jones?_ Nathan wondered idly, then briefly wondered why he kept referencing Pirates of the Caribbean exclusively. There were other works dealing with the age of sail after all.

Then he was recalled to the fact he was a time traveller.  
_So, how do I go about getting back to my own time? You don't run an experiment just so you can lose the subject and not get any results in return._ Nathan thought.  
He frowned, trying to remember, then started wracking his brain trying to remember what the scientists had told him regarding coming home.  
To his frustration, he couldn't recall any of it, and to make matters worse, there were other matters he couldn't recall, such as _when_ he was in time, whathe was _supposed _to do and _wasn't_ supposed to do, activities and people to avoid, and things to avoid saying or doing,-though privately he felt that so long as he didn't blaspheme and didn't flirt, he'd be fine.

The reappearance of the man Nathan presumed was the captain of the English ship reappeared at the top of the opposite hatch, and to Nathan, he looked grim, but in a way that bespoke an unpleasant decision as opposed to a discovery such as a cursed or mysterious artefact.  
Three other men came up with him, along with the sailor who'd originally found him.

The captain headed for the railing, presumably to return to the other ship, and the sailor beckoned in Nathan's direction.  
To be sure he wasn't misinterpreting, he pointed to himself and mouthed '_me?'_ with a raised eyebrow.  
'Yes, you, in the funny clothing.' Said the sailor.  
Nathan's hand reflexively twitched, but he caught himself. His usual reply to sarcasm of that variety was a one-fingered salute.  
His gut told him that that reaction would probably be received with less tolerance here than back in the twenty-first century.

So instead, he pushed himself off the handrail and walked to the ship's waist-high railing.  
Fortunately, boarding planks had been put across, so it was no great feat for Nathan to jump nimbly up the rail, dash across the two-foot gap between the ships.  
When he reached the railing, he paused for a moment, aware of the captain and his two underlings.  
'Permission to come aboard, Captain?' Nathan asked, tentatively.

The man he'd presumed to be the captain of the ship stirred slightly from his granite-faced façade, though with the bloody streaks across his forehead and how untidy his hair was from the fighting, to Nathan he looked about as imposing as Viggo Mortensen in _The Lord of the Rings, _perhaps more so, because the blood he was spattered in was real.  
'Of course,' he replied formally, gesturing for Nathan to step down.  
Nathan did so, then approached warily.

One of the underlings approached Nathan and stopped him short however.  
'I'm afraid I'm going to have to confiscate that weapon of yours.' He said firmly.

Nathan considered arguing his case for a second or too.  
Then he remembered he was talking to an _Englishman_, and gave the idea up, so he reluctantly drew the gun, reversed his grip on it and offered it butt first to the underling.

'Just don't drop it, and don't shoot yourself in the foot.' Advised Nathan resignedly.  
The underling didn't look terribly sanguine with Nathan's mocking resignation, but his tone had been polite, so the mockery was implied at best.  
He stapped aside without a word, and nodded to the captain.  
_Oh, burn._ Nathan thought privately in satisfaction.  
'Very well, if you'd care to follow me to my cabin.' The captain said, gesturing to the section of the ship in question.  
Nathan nodded once, then followed on as the captain started walking.

**I can tell already that this is going to require a great deal of work…  
****More than **_**Brothers in Arms **_**did, that's a cert.**

**As an OC, Nathan has none of the armour a main character (usually) has against becoming a Sue, so I have two options here:**

**1. I can have him stick with Laurence for lack of anywhere else to go for as long as possible, and maybe eventually steal a dragon egg from the Turks, then wing it from there.**

**2. I can put him in the postal service and have him going around Britain and do some stuff regarding the coverts while he tries to figure out how to get back to his time and universe.**

**So, next time will be introductions and exposition…  
****Yeah, that's going to take some doing.**

**If anyone has any suggestions, I'm more than happy to take them on board.  
****I have a very vague idea of the reason Nathan is in **_**Temeraire**_** rather than where he's supposed to be, but I'm kind of stuck for what else to do.  
****As I say, any ideas are welcome.**

**I'd like to thank seff for the Author Alert as well.**

'**til next time:**

**No One-liners.**


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter II

Are You Serious?

**Disclaimer: See Chapter One.**

The cabin was bigger than what Nathan had been expecting, but not by too much.  
The captain handed his bloodstained coat off to a valet, who helped him into a fresh one, before departing, leaving the captain to resettle his appearance.

Nathan waited patiently through the process, wondering just how he was going to sell being a time traveller to the captain without sounding like he was utterly insane.  
Whatever he had in the way of technology in his pack would probably be a good start, _if_ he had anything to validate his claim stored on them, but-

'Now, sir, I'm sorry we couldn't speak to you before, but it was unavoidable.' The captain said, while Nathan had been thinking, he'd tied his hair back into a que and wiped the blood off his face, and was now seated behind the desk before the stern windows.  
'No harm done captain, not the first time I've had to wait for someone else, and I doubt it'll be the last.' Nathan replied, waving aside the apology, but his curiosity was very much piqued.  
'Tell me, what is your name, sir?' The captain asked.  
'I'm Nathan King.' Nathan replied simply. 'And who do I find myself talking to?' He asked in reply.  
'Captain William Laurence of His Majesty's Navy currently in command of the _Reliant._' Laurence replied. 'Tell me, how did you come to be aboard the prize?'  
'Prize?' Nathan asked, puzzled. 'Oh, you mean that other ship?' He amended, realising. 'Haven't got a clue.' He said with a shrug.  
'You have no recollection of how you ended up aboard a French frigate, in the middle of the Atlantic, three weeks from shore?' Clarified Laurence.  
'Okay, there's a distinction: I know how I got onto to the ship, I can't for the life of me explain why I was there, or how I came to be there in the first place.' Nathan replied.  
'That doesn't answer my question, sir.' Laurence pointed out.  
'If I answered it bluntly, you'd have me committed for lunacy.' Nathan said, stepping away from the wall. 'At the heart of the problem, is the fact that even coming from where I do, the method of how I got onto that ship in the first place would be considered…' Nathan trailed off, trying to find a fitting description.  
'Considered what?'  
'Farfetched…unbelievable…unlikely…unrealistic…impossible,-depending on who you asked,-take your pick, it'd be considered any of those.'  
'Go on,' Laurence said, interested.  
'Okay,' Nathan said, took a deep breath, then briefly outlined the concept of time travel, and the inherent barriers. 'That's where I come in; As you probably gathered, I'm not from around here. I was born in the year nineteen ninety-three, and in the year two-thousand and fourteen, a group of scientists that had been studying a particular facet of physics found a way to actually make time travel work. When I heard, I volunteered to help in their experiments. Something went wrong, and I ended up on that frigate instead of where I was supposed to end up.' Nathan said.  
'And you expect me to believe that? I grant you it was a masterful tale, but-' Laurence broke off and shook his head.  
'Like I said: you wouldn't believe me if I told you.' Nathan repeated, not at all surprised by the captain's scepticism, and ignored the man's attempts at hiding his mirth. 'I take it that underling of yours gave you my gun?' Nathan asked patiently.  
'You mean this?' Laurence asked, producing the weapon in question from a pocket in his coat.

Nathan was surprised for a second, but then mentally slapped himself.  
Of course, the man must've transferred the pistol from his bloodied coat to this fresh one when he'd changed.  
'Yes, that.' He said. 'Now, comparing that to a flintlock, notice anything different?'  
Laurence gave Nathan a stern look.  
'I have a hard time believing that this is a gun.' He said evenly.  
'If I may?' Nathan asked, gesturing to the pistol.  
Laurence gave Nathan a level look.  
'Do you take me for a fool?' He asked coolly.  
'Keep your own on me if you like.' Nathan said, taking a step back.  
'One moment if you will,' Laurence said, and called for his valet again.

_Steward_. Nathan amended as Laurence sent the man to fetch a 'Lieutenant Riley', whom Nathan surmised was one of the captain's underlings.  
They waited in an uncomfortable silence for a moment while before the Lieutenant returned.

'You called, sir?' Asked Riley.  
'Yes I did, I just felt it prudent to have you on hand for the moment, Mr. King here wishes to prove a point regarding…what was that charming term you used before?' Laurence asked, addressing Nathan.  
'Time travel.' Nathan replied patiently.  
'I'm sorry, you'll have to explain this one to me, time travel?' Riley asked, blinking in confusion, and once again, Nathan was forced to explain.

'And the easiest way to prove that is this pistol,' Nathan said, gesturing to the weapon in question, sitting in all it's matte black glory on the desk.  
'That's a pistol? Good Lord, I thought it was a club.' Riley said.  
'Why then, did I advise you to not drop it and to not shoot yourself in the foot?' Asked Nathan rhetorically.  
Riley gave Nathan a hard look.

'At any rate, your presence is a precaution so Mr. King here doesn't try anything foolish.' Laurence replied.  
Nathan diplomatically decided to not to comment, and instead proceeded to disassemble the pistol and give a simplified summary of the key components.  
'And how does this prove you're a time traveller? All it proves is that whoever made this is a genius.' Riley asked in confusion.  
'Have either of you considered how making these sorts of alterations to a flintlock would improve their effectiveness? Or do you know anyone who has ever said anything to the same effect?' Nathan asked.  
The silence of the two was complete.

'You still don't believe me, do you?' He asked resignedly.  
'No.' Laurence said, though he sounded uncertain.  
'So, what's your theory?' Nathan asked, as he began to reassemble the pistol.  
Laurence didn't reply.  
'Look, I probably have something in my bag a bit more advanced than a gun, but it'd be even more of a headache to try and explain. I'll show you if I have anything like it, but please, I don't know _exactly _how it works beyond the basics, and even _that_ is liable to get confusing.' Nathan said, slipping the magazine into the breach.  
'Very well.' Laurence said, leaning back in his chair.  
Riley held out his hand, and Nathan suppressed the desire to roll his eyes as he handed the SIG over again, then he shrugged his pack from his shoulders, then began to rummage through it.

He'd packed two changes of clothes, camping gear, a first aid kit, and some food, as well as about six packets of spare rounds for the SIG, along with nine additional clips.  
_Maybe self-defense wasn't the reason they gave me a gun..._ Mused Nathan privately, and filed the thought away for future pondering.  
He opened the last sizeable pocket, and his hand found a plastic casing.  
He pulled the device out, and then found something he couldn't help smiling about:  
A hand-crank charger, so anything that required electricity that he had weren't going to be rendered useless when they lost their charge, provided he didn't lose it.

'And what might that be you have their?' Laurence asked, eyeing the black rectangle Nathan had pulled from the pack with a mixture of curiosity and confusion.  
'I was actually hoping for something a lot simpler, but I guess this'll have to do.' Nathan replied. 'This is a computer.'  
'And what does it do, exactly?' Riley asked.  
Nathan placed it on the desk and flipped the lid open, revealing the keyboard.  
'If I listed everything you could do, then we'd be hear until doomsday.' Nathan replied. 'Suffice to say that it can store a great deal of information, and so long as you have access to a certain universal database,-a really, really big library if you will,-you can call up any information you'd like on it.'  
'That doesn't answer my question, all I see is a black bo-' Riley said  
'I'm getting there.' Nathan said impatiently, then pressed the 'on' button, causing the laptop computer to hum to life.

It went through the loading screen, which Laurence and Riley watched with incomprehension, and then the screen went to the login, and the two Navy men recoiled as the screen turned a textured blue.  
Nathan opened his login tab, then quickly tapped in his password and opened his account.  
The screen blacked for a moment, then came back in, with the _Halo Reach_ cover art for the screen saver, and the various program icons flashed up in ordered columns over the top on either side.

'Do you believe me yet?' Asked Nathan patiently.  
'I am less sceptical.' Laurence replied. 'How does it light up like that?' He asked.  
Nathan crossed back to his bag and pulled out a mouse before he replied, plugging the device in as he did so.  
'Remember when I said I don't know precisely how this thing works?' Nathan replied, 'that's one of the things I couldn't adequately explain; overall, it runs on electricity-'  
'Electricity?' Riley asked, stumbling slightly over the pronunciation.  
'It basically runs on lightning, only lightning on a much smaller scale.' Nathan said, then scowled as a warning popped up in the bottom right of the screen. 'And it appears I'm going to have to charge this bloody thing, it's nearly out of power.' He said in annoyance, indicating a battery symbol.  
'Where are you going to get lightning on a sunny day like today?' Laurence asked.  
Nathan held up the charger.  
'Not lightning, electricity, and that's easy enough, you can make an electric current with copper, iron,-' Nathan broke off and clamped his lips shut. 'And I think for the sake of history I'd better keep my mouth shut, before I do anything else that might screw around with history.' He said, with a distinct feeling of dread, quickly navigating to the shutdown sequence.  
'What?' Riley asked.  
'This is going to take a while…' Nathan said as the computer shut down, and he closed the lid with a snap.

* * *

Hours later, and after a dinner Nathan had uncomfortably sat through, making stilted conversation, being very, _very_ careful to avoid mentioning anachronistic facts or anecdotes, and having charged his laptop, he was sitting in the vacated third lieutenant's quarters, stretching his cramped hand when he got word from Laurence's steward, Giles, that the captain wanted a quiet word on the quarterdeck.  
Nathan had hastily covered the Ipod he'd found in the bottom of his bag, but now he pocketed it, and proceeded up to the quarterdeck.

'What's up?' Nathan asked, then mentally reproached himself; he was going to have to unlearn his informality, the British of the nineteenth century were renowned for their arrogantly grand manners.  
'I was curious as to what you planned on doing while you're stuck here.' Laurence said, taking a draft on his cigar.

Nathan thought about it for a moment.  
'I'm in a bit of a bind in that regard.' He admitted. 'I haven't got a penny of legal tender to my name, and I can't even get a job as a chemist without changing history; I never had an apprenticeship, and fiction,-at least the type I'm familiar with,- isn't popular enough for me to make a living as an author; that leaves military service, and no offence, but I've never seen the appeal of naval combat, and I don't think I'd fair too well as an army man here.' Nathan listed.  
'What about the Church?' Laurence asked.  
'I'm a non-practicing Catholic.'  
'You're Catholic?' Laurence asked in surprise.  
'_Non-practicing_ Catholic. Frankly, I don't care if the person I'm talking to is Jewish, Muslim, Anglican, Protestant, Buddhist or Hindu, they're all roads to the same place to me.' Nathan corrected. 'I'd elaborate a bit there, but you know, grandfather paradox and everything.'  
'Well, do you have any objection to joining the aerial corps? We found a dragon egg aboard the prize, and it'll hatch before we can get it into the hands of the aviators,' Laurence asked with a hint of desperation.  
Nathan turned slowly and gave Laurence a disbelieving look.  
'Captain, excuse my French, but what the hell is in that cigar you're smoking?' Nathan asked incredulously.  
'What do you mean?' Laurence asked looking affronted.  
'You can't be serious. A _dragon egg_?' Nathan asked incredulously. 'Granted, I've always thought it'd be well, brilliant, if dragons existed, and better still if they weren't mindless killing machines willing to deal with humans, but the simple fact remains they are only a globally recognised myth.'  
'I assure you, Mr. King, that we currently have a dragon egg in our hold at the moment, and I can assure you that I'm as sane as you are.' Laurence replied.

Nathan thought about this for a moment.  
'Okay, remember when I said I was a time traveller?' He asked.  
'Yes?' Laurence asked, frowning.  
'I've also jumped into an alternate reality if you're telling the truth.' Nathan said. 'If you're not having me on here, that is. Dragons do not exist in the future I remember, and nor do they pop up in history outside of religious art, heraldry and legends.' Nathan said. 'And as palaeontologists have never found a dragon fossil, they can never have existed. Censorship of that level is impossible, so that means I'm not only from the future, I'm from an alternate reality. He said, and upon saying the words out loud, sagged against the rail.  
'Perhaps you'd like to see the egg for yourself?' Laurence asked, extinguishing his cigar.  
'Yeah, I think I'm going to have to, to believe this one.' Nathan replied in a voice that still held a note of disbelief, pushing himself upright.

**I'm not too sure about this chapter…**

**Riley and Laurence are sensible, but even the most sensible person can be very sceptical and prone to rash action.  
****I guess the ultimate judges are the audience.**

**What think you all?**

**Now, for the Favourite Author add, I'd like to thank Caledor79.**

**For being my first reviewer, I'd like to thank Hideout Writer.**

'**til next time:**

**No One-liners.**


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter III

Two Weeks From Madeira,-With A Fair Wind…And A Dragon To Feed

**Disclaimer: See Chapter One.**

Nathan had never particularly liked being the centre of attention.  
In university, he'd been willing enough to put his best foot forward academically, and he'd never minded socialising.  
However, he'd never liked the feeling of being the object of everyone's attention, interest and envy.

And now, two hundred and eleven years in the past, and in an alternate reality, he was enjoying the attention even less so, although the sailors giving him the interested looks, glances and stares didn't know much beyond he was a oddity, and a mystery both.  
Albeit, an oddity and a mystery doing his level best not to be an inconvenience.

That said, they weren't above speculating about his origin _beyond_ his coming off the _Amitié.  
_One of his favourite theories, was that he was a deep-cover spy, who's cover had been blown.

One he cracked down on immediately upon hearing about it, was his being a supernatural entity.

'Whoever told you that one has been out in the sun a bit too much, I'm no ghost, and I'm definitely no demon, and do you see a halo over this head?' He said to the pair of sailors who were discussing him within his earshot.  
'Well of course you'd tell us that if you were a spirit, now wouldn't you?' One of the sailors retorted.  
Nathan resisted the urge to face palm with some difficulty, and was on the verge of replying when Lieutenant Riley, who'd been passing by called them to order and set them to a task on the opposite side of the deck.  
'Were they giving you any problems, Mr. King?' The man asked.  
Nathan shrugged.  
'Apparently I'm the meat of shipboard gossip, I heard one gentleman before theorise I was a British spy; one of those two suggested I was an angel come to judge the ship's crew.' He said dismissively. 'I'm more surprised that more speculation about that egg isn't going about.' He added with genuine surprise.  
Riley didn't look nearly as dismissive of Nathan's being considered supernatural, but his reply addressed Nathan's second comment.  
'The matter is well in hand; if you'll recall this morning's meeting in the stateroom, the captain took your advice and drew lots for who would get the egg; midshipman Carver was drawn.' Riley replied.  
'My best wishes to him then.' Nathan replied, a tad wistfully.  
'He hasn't got a very good head for heights.' Riley said in an undertone.  
'Ah.' Nathan said, and prudently decided not to pursue the subject.  
'The captain put your name in the hat as well, Mr. King, did you know?' Riley added conversationally.  
Nathan cocked an eyebrow at this.  
'No, I didn't, I must confess I can sleep through a thunderstorm on land without losing a wink of sleep, and I sleep late on a good day.' He replied. 'Which is probably why I didn't know anything further about that egg until just now.'

Privately, Nathan was still deeply shell-shocked after seeing the huge egg in its crate, and he'd actually fainted after having ascertained it's authenticity to his own satisfaction, and had only woken late that morning, and after a quick handful of his own trail mix to sate his hunger, he'd gone back down to take a look at the egg to confirm he hadn't dreamed the entire thing.

* * *

The week went quickly, and even though Nathan could only put three or four names to faces, he did gather that there was some anxiety over the hatching, and over Carver's 'going into harness' as it was put.

His favourite pastime,-aside from sticking to his own quarters and gazing listlessly at the horizon from the quarterdeck,-was to examine what he could of the egg, and this often put him in close company with the ship's surgeon, Mr Pollitt, whom Nathan was inclined to like, though he hoped to high heaven he would never have to be operated on by the man.  
That said, it was impossible not to speak with him, and being somewhat taken with science himself, it was easy to strike up a conversation.

'You seem to know a great deal about chemistry for a spy.' Mr Pollitt said, after a discussion regarding the French chemist Lavoisier, and his atomic theory.  
'I have a university degree in chemistry, sir.' Nathan said. 'And no, I am not a spy.' He added, and hesitated. He leaned in and gestured for Pollitt to do the same. 'Has the captain told you of my ah…origins?' Nathan asked quietly.  
'He has indeed, but it's a polite fiction for the hands' benefit that we're playing.' Mr Pollitt said with a small wink. 'Tell me, was your world very different? Aside from the absence of dragons of course,' he asked.  
Nathan smiled slightly.  
'In many, many ways; I'm actually from what is currently the colony of New South Wales, though in my time both the continent and the country are called Australia. It became a commonwealth in the year nineteen-oh-one.' Nathan said. 'And that's just one difference, America and China are economic superpowers, and the world's various religions have,-for the most part,-mellowed enough to accept one another. I doubt you'll believe this, but about thirty years before I was born, man actually reached the moon.' He said.  
'Truly?' Mr Pollitt asked in astonishment.  
Nathan nodded.  
'Unfortunately, due to the lack of technology, and the fact it was mostly a political stunt by the Americans, the project was abandoned a decade later, although there is huge support globally for humanity to take to the stars in earnest.' He said, with a definite note of wistfulness.  
They dropped the subject there, and moved away from more anachronistic anecdotes, though Nathan tried not to get into medicine.  
He didn't particularly feel like making Pollitt think him a know-it-all smartass, nor did he wish to make the surgeon feel inadequate, or like Nathan was trying to instruct him.

* * *

The week passed in a similar manner, and Nathan in the gaps between socialising, staring at the horizon and staring in wonder at the dragon egg, managed to take an inventory of what he had in his pack:

Enough trail mix to last for three months, a tent and other miscellaneous camping gear, the first aid kit was brand new and well stocked, with antivenoms, antibiotics, antiseptics, bandages,-even stitches and painkillers.

Along with the charger, laptop and Ipod, he also had no less than four portable hard drives:  
One blank, one full of notes relating to science, history and mathematics, and the final had more personal touches: movies, pictures, photos and even a game or two, as well as a fairly substantial library of e-books.

And, unaccountably, there on this last were a series of songs in note form to be played by guitar.  
But he couldn't remember if he'd even had the thing with him…And if he'd packed so much, how long had he been supposed to be gone for?

Abruptly, Nathan considered that perhaps he'd brought so much on the chance that he'd be stuck permanently in the past.  
It was too real a possibility to ignore.  
He tried to think if he'd left any word with his younger brothers and sister, and his parents, friends and others who would worry about him.  
Wholly impossible. He wracked his brains trying to remember details, and he couldn't call any relevant ones to mind. And the unrelated ones had no bearing whatsoever on what he so desperately _needed to know._

Then there was the gun and ammunition:

Not only did he have rounds for the SIG, he also had rounds for a rifle and a shotgun, but he couldn't for the life of him remember whether he'd brought one of either, or whether he'd been carrying them for someone else. Had there even been anyone else with him?  
_If I brought a shotgun or rifle, or both, they're probably with that bloody guitar…if I even brought that, and I just don't remember putting these music sheets on here with the rest of this entertainment stuff. _Nathan thought to himself.  
He sighed and repacked his things, then decided to go and see Mr. Pollitt.

* * *

'Well, I'm not certain it's amnesia, in the usual sense, but by your account you did take a knock on the head when you got here, so maybe it is; but your memories from before the event are unaffected?' Mr Pollitt enquired, having given his opinion on Nathan's mental state  
'From about two weeks out from when I got to Geneva.' Nathan confirmed. 'After that, it's just a hazy blur, except for the knowing this has something to do with time travel, and that something went badly wrong.'  
'I can't help you much I'm afraid, I think you'll just have to go along as best you can.' Pollitt replied. 'I'm no psychologist, so I can't give you any advice beyond that.' He added with some regret.  
Nathan shrugged.  
'Thanks anyway.' Nathan said, and after some polite conversation, left to go stare at the horizon and brood.

* * *

The morning the egg was expected to hatch, Nathan was up and dressed in a fresh change of clothes at around five thirty, and took the half-hour before breakfast to practice some of his half-neglected martial arts.  
Having read over the syllabus and refreshed his memory on technique, he was now practicing what he could, when he could without drawing too much attention.

When the rest of the ship's company were waking, they found him having already managed to have appropriated a cup of tea from Laurence's steward, and enjoying it on the quarterdeck.

'I hope you won't be unwilling to try and harness the beast should it refuse Carver.' Laurence said quietly while the egg was brought up on a cushion fashioned from old sailcloth.  
'I'll do what I can. Who knows, it might take an interest in you, or Riley or one of the others.' Nathan said with a small smile, to show he meant it jokingly.  
Laurence gave Nathan a look that said,-more or less,- that it was no joking matter. Nathan read some invective and obscenity in it, but he chose to ignore it; the captain was evidently stressing over this.

By now, the crew of the ship had set the egg out on it's cushion, and Carver, pale as sheet, was standing before it.  
Laurence descended down the stairs to stand opposite the boy, and all of a sudden, Nathan felt a bit too far from the action.  
He drained his tea, then vaulted from the quarterdeck down to the deck, landing with a loud bang, and flexing his knees to take the impact, causing Laurence to look around at him startled, and making the handful of sailors jump, and a few of them swore as they fell off their own perches.  
'Sorry.' Nathan said. 'This, I've got to see firsthand.' He added by way of excuse, and earning a glare from Laurence, which was lost on Nathan who was now thoroughly absorbed in watching the egg,-which was about the size of his torso,-rock back and forth on it's cushion.

Nathan resisted the urge to put on the sunglasses in his pocket; not only would they be a bit difficult to explain at present, he wasn't sure whether or not he'd scare the hatchling into flight if it saw it's own reflection. That being said, it was a brilliantly sunny day, and he was nearly being forced to squint.

The egg was beginning to crack seriously, and already through the cracks Nathan could glimpse a scrabbling black talon here, and a black wingtip there, various excited murmurings told him he wasn't the only one who'd noticed.

The hatchling burst out of it's shell so abruptly that Nathan nearly jumped.  
He'd sat through the infamous chest-burster scene in _Alien_ without flinching, and this far less violent and infinitely less gory birth had nearly forced him to it.

The hatchling peered around curiously, and a low sigh went around the deck as the sailors saw the dragon.  
Nathan couldn't help a low whistle himself:  
The hatchling was roughly the size of a large dog, coloured pure, jet black from nose to tail, only broken by deep blue markings edged in grey on it's six-spined wings, and glossy from the amniotic fluid it was covered in.

'Mr Carver, when you are ready,' Laurence said, from beside Nathan.  
Carver obliged, looking like he might faint at any second, and Nathan was quite sure that the dragon, would more than likely see his fear and disdain the boy.  
He resisted the urge to point this out to the captain.

Carver held out his hands, and said in a tone dripping with apprehension that Nathan would've pitied, but found unaccountably funny:  
'Good dragon, nice dragon.' To Nathan, it sounded more like a question, and he found himself nearly wincing in sympathy.  
The hatchling was obviously not paying attention; it was instead occupied with flicking off bits of eggshell which had adhered to it fastidiously, and examining itself.  
While it was doing this, Nathan eyed the five talons on each claw:  
Each one was a good inch-long, and looked as sharp as steak knives.

Carver, having not got the reaction he'd expected, just stood there dumbly, looking at Laurence and Pollitt appealingly.  
'Perhaps if he bespeaks the creature again?' Pollitt suggested, a little doubtfully.  
'Pray, do so, Mr. Carver.' Laurence said, before Nathan could intervene and opine that the dragon had picked up on Carver's lack of confidence.

Carver had turned to try again, but the dragon had already clambered down from the cushion, and sent the spectators scurrying back.  
'Hold your positions.' Laurence snapped. 'Mr. Riley, look to the hold.' The Lieutenant nodded, and positioned himself before the opening.  
'Perhaps I should…?' Nathan said quietly to Laurence, casting a meaningful glance at the hatchling.  
'Let's just see how this plays out for a little, the dragonet may yet take an interest in Carver.' Laurence suggested, with a shade more bravery than he probably felt.

Nathan sighed, and returned to examining the dragon, while it did the same with it's surrounds, showing every sign of intelligence and curiosity, though Nathan felt he'd wait and see before he added sentience to the list.

Nathan checked his watch:  
Roughly five minutes since the egg had hatched, and Carver was still being roundly ignored.  
He returned his gaze to the front, and nearly fell over as the dragon reared up to look him in the face curiously, bracing itself with it's forehands on his shoulders.  
'See something you like?' Nathan enquired calmly, striving not to run, and felt a moment of satisfaction as his voice stayed level.  
At the close quarter inspection, he noticed the dragon's eyes were blue, and that it was very well-proportioned, but with nothing other than artwork to go by, he wasn't willing to make an assessment.  
A moment passed, and the dragon blinked, cocked it's head and parted it's jaws slightly as if to speak, then dropped back to the ground, evidently either not interested, or still curious about its surrounds. Or getting hungry and looking for food.

Laurence looked almost as if he wanted to cry.  
'Why are you frowning?' The masculine voice wasn't human, of that, Nathan was certain, and from the look of shock on Laurence's face, the captain didn't quite believe it.  
_You lucky so-and-so._ Nathan thought bitterly.

Carver was looking desperately at Laurence, and looked ready for another attempt, but at that second:  
'I beg your pardon, I did not mean to. My name is William Laurence; and yours?'  
Nathan was usually rather taciturn, and not prone to being easily surprised, but this had him raising both eyebrows, and looking sharply at the captain.  
'I don't have a name.' The dragon said with a note of dissatisfaction.  
'May I give you one?' Laurence asked formally.  
Nathan pried his glance away from the captain and back to the dragon, which answered with transparent apathy:  
'If you please.'

Laurence was silent, obviously stuck for a full five seconds, then blurted over-loud:  
'Temeraire.'

Nathan thought for a moment the man had invented the name on the spot for a moment, then recalled the ship he'd read about from the Napoleonic War.  
An odd name for a dragon, but a very noble one.

Nathan observed the harnessing process with some languid interest, and upon the dragon being restrained by means of a chain attached to a stanchion, a tub of meat was brought out, and he felt it prudent to move off a little ways.  
A good idea as it turned out, because Temeraire wasn't a clean eater, and if Nathan had've maintained his position, he'd have ended up covered head-to-toe in gore.

'Sir, shall I dismiss the officers?' Riley said, and Laurence hesitated.  
'Mr. Riley, the circumstances are awkward, there is no doubt,' he said. 'But I think for the sake of the ship, I must put her in your hands at once; I will need to devote a great deal of my time to Temeraire now, and I cannot divide it so.'

Nathan couldn't quite puzzle out what had just happened in his head, as Laurence, clipped one of his own epaulettes to Riley's shoulder, evidently signifying the Lieutenant's change in rank, but he guessed Laurence and Riley had been something of a team in a similar vein as Captain Jack Aubrey and the surgeon Stephen Maturin from _Master and Commander_, though maybe not as angsty upon meeting.

Nathan joined in politely with the crews cheering for the freshly minted Captain riley, as well as the cheering for Temeraire.

'Why are they making that noise?' Nathan, who'd been about to enquire of Laurence about breafast, stopped and turned at Temeraire's question.  
He hadn't quite formulated an answer before he was enquiring about flying from Laurence,- who, before Nathan could say a word,- pressed him into helping wipe Temeraire down, a task that wasn't altogether unpleasant.

He waited patiently until Laurence had finished wrapping the harness' buckles in sailcloth before speaking.  
'I'm not sure about your opinion on this, but from where I'm standing you're one of the luckiest men alive.' Nathan said, exercising a little caution so he didn't phrase it coarsely.  
Laurence didn't reply straight away, when he met Nathan's eye, it looked like he'd just been told he had terminal cancer and three days to live.  
'I will be blunt with you sir, you are most likely the only person outside of His Majesty's Aerial Corp who would see it so; and if you're wondering about breakfast, speak with Giles.' He said.  
'Thank you kindly.' Nathan said, and left the captain to his thoughts.

**That may have been a bit rushed near the end, but Nathan doesn't know what's going on in Laurence's head, and is still largely unaware of the subtleties of the world he's found himself in, and is only slightly better informed as to the subtleties of the period.**

**For Reviewing, I'd like to once again thank Hideout Writer.**

**Also, for all fans of **_**Temeraire**_**, I recommend you check out HaruChicken's one-shot story:**_** A Dragon's Diary**_**.**

**Not to spoil it, but it is a very convincing look at Rankin's point of view that doesn't make him look like an utter bastard.**

**It takes some serious skill to do something like that, and HaruChicken did it marvellously, I highly recommend anyone reading this has a look.**

'**til next time:**

**No One-liners!**


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter IV

The Voyage to Madeira

**Disclaimer: See Chapter One.**

A scuffling, followed closely by indignant hissing awoke Nathan the next morning, and he hauled himself up with a bad tempered obscenity or two.  
He came out onto the deck with Temeraire already up to his jowls in his breakfast.  
'If he's going to eat like that, I don't think what supplies you have will last, and I'm pretty sure you can't feed a dragon on trail mix.' Nathan said to Laurence.  
'No, I think you're right there, we'll have to requisition supplies from the _Amitié_ within a week.' Laurence agreed.  
'Say, speaking of which, I think I might be missing a couple of things.' Nathan said, remembering the extra ammunition and the sheet music he'd found.  
'Oh?' Laurence asked, and Nathan briefly summarised, briefly outlining the difference between a shotgun and a regular rifle.  
'In essence, even the most myopic gunner imaginable could hit a target with a shotgun.' Nathan said, having made the distinction and shown Laurence a shotgun shell and a rifle bullet.  
'Do you have designs for these weapons?' Laurence asked.  
Nathan shrugged.  
'I might, but I'd prefer having the weapon itself honestly.' He replied.

* * *

As it turned out, the Liuetenant left with the _Amitié_ had already located a couple of items the French crew and the officers hadn't been able to account for, and they indeed turned out to be the missing weapons and musical instrument.

And to Nathan's surprise, the rifle turned out to be an F88C Austeyr, a modified carbine version of the Steyr AUG A1 assault rifle, and a standard issue rifle in the Australian Army.  
In the case were also an ACOG sight, a silencer, and a note, which Nathan looked at and couldn't help smiling about.  
It read:

_Hope these save your life Nate, bring me back a T-Rex tooth._

_-Danny_

Now he remembered a bit more:  
His younger brother was in the army, and upon hearing of what his older brother was involved in, had acquired the weapons, along with ammunition and sent it along.  
Various militaries had been interested in the project as well, and had even trained the volunteers to use firearms just in case, so it hadn't caused as much trouble as Nathan had feared.  
The shotgun had been a Remington twelve-gauge pump-action.

'They look a good deal shorter than any guns I've seen outside of pistols.' Laurence commented upon first seeing the Austeyr and the Remington.  
'I'd pick these over a musket any day.' Nathan replied.

The hatchling,-Temeraire,- seemed inclined to do very little outside of eating and growing, so it was no great problem calling Laurence aside to present the weapons as yet more evidence of his anachronistic nature,-after having shown the weapons to Captain Riley out of a sense of obligation at odds with the time.

'Do you still intend on joining the aviators?' Laurence asked.  
Nathan shrugged and closed the gun case and locked it before sitting on his cot and pulling out his guitar: it was a Gibson he'd picked up second hand in a music store in good condition, and had only required new strings.  
He strummed the opening bars to '_What's a Few Men?_' before he answered.  
'Yeah, I do, but without a dragon I guess I'm going to have to work twice as hard to prove myself; I guess I don't fall neatly into a class system; I could be related to the royal family via Henry VIII for all I know.' He said.  
'Australia wasn't an aristocracy?' Laurence asked with a frown. 'Well however did you get by? As a democracy like those turncoat Americans?'  
Nathan played a little further into the song he was playing and murmured the chorus absentmindedly:  
'_Well, my heart said: 'yeah' but my head said: 'no', and the English colonel said: 'it's time to go.''  
_He stopped abruptly.

'Democratic, but still loyal to the crown, though being a rather antiauthoritarian society, that doesn't really enter too much into considerations; well, aside from sports. We couldn't have the Ashes series without the UK.' Nathan replied with a smile, but paid for the private joke by having to explain the Ashes, as well as most of Australia's colonial history.  
Upon finishing this, he looked Laurence straight in the eye.  
'I'm telling you this on faith that you won't go bandying it about; remember: dragons don't exist in my world, and it wouldn't surprise me if entering dragons into the equation would change everything. China, or Japan, or maybe one of the nations in the Indonesian archipelago might control most of the landmass; either way it generally isn't a good idea to meddle with history.' Nathan said, hoping Laurence would read between the lines and get the message.  
'You're right, the addition of dragons changes the situation somewhat; I'll keep that to myself, unless it becomes pertinent.' Laurence replied.

Nathan thought about trying to get full secrecy from the man but thought better of it.  
'Back on subject, you mind if I lend a hand with Temeraire?' Nathan asked. 'If I lend you a hand, it couldn't hurt my chances with making a good impression on these aviators of yours.'  
'If you'd like,' Laurence replied.  
As it turned out, there wasn't much to help with, aside from wiping the rapidly growing dragon down after his meals, and fishing to get ready for the next one.

* * *

One morning, midway through the second week Laurence roused Nathan early, and after a brief look outside, Nathan put his things away in his bag, put on a set of work clothes and a pair of boat shoes, before going out on deck and up to where Laurence stood beside Temeraire.  
The dragon was probably close on a tonne or two in weight by Nathan's estimation, and awake, as it had already it was beginning to rain, and nothing could sleep with water falling continuously on it.  
He wished instantly for his coat: a Dryzabone, and while nowhere near as impressive as Laurence's or Riley's, it was infinitely more practical for wet weather.

Nathan clambered forward and hunkered down beside Laurence, noting that Temeraire was looking down at him with some curiosity.  
_He's probably been too busy eating and sleeping to notice me too much._ Nathan thought sourly.  
'How long d'you think this'll last?' Nathan asked Laurence.  
'Anywhere from a few hours to three days.' Laurence replied.

Presently, Temeraire sat up a little and spread his wings, evidently curious about the feel of the rain upon them.  
'Ho!' Nathan said, as the sky lit up in a spectacular display of spider lightning, followed closely by deep, rolling thunder.  
'What was that?' Temeraire asked, peering at the clouds curiously.  
'Lightning, guess this _will_ be a real storm.' Nathan replied, with just a shade of anxiety.

Not at the storm itself, but at the high seas that were likely to result.  
Fortunately, wearing a red shirt,-though it was a little faded,- Nathan felt he'd be pretty visible, and he was a pretty strong swimmer, so he was fairly confident in his chances of survival should he go overboard.

'What makes it?' Temeraire asked.  
'I don't know.' Admitted Laurence.  
'We could go and see,' Temeraire suggested, and both Laurence and Nathan were alarmed to see the links of the chain beginning to part.  
'That won't be necessary,' Nathan said. 'Lightning is a build up of static electricity in the clouds, it discharges into the Earth when it reaches a certain level, lightning is the visible path the energy takes to get to the ground, thunder, the noise you hear afterward is the air heated afterward rushing outward, for every three seconds that the thunder takes to reach you after a strike, the lightning was a kilometre away.'  
'How far is a kilometre?' Laurence asked.  
'It's one point six kilometres to a mile.' Nathan replied, then gasped as the rain hit them, and immediately afterward came a wave.

The water filled his nose and mouth, and he clawed his way up to the surface.  
He looked around frantically, and saw the stern of the _Reliant._

'Man overboard!' He cried at the top of his voice, treading water and holding his arm as high out of the water as he could.

Nothing for a moment, and then he briefly saw ropes being thrown.  
Seeing this, he began swimming for them, heedless of the salt water in his eyes, but it was no good, he was too far away.  
'Ah, fuck!' Bellowed Nathan, then just as he was about to attempt as best he could to get to the lifelines, Temeraire had launched himself from the ship, and was circling back, with Laurence hanging precariously from the dragon's harness.

'Here!' Nathan yelled, resuming treading water, waving one arm in an arc over his head while Temeraire battled the wind and Laurence fought to keep a hold of the harness.  
Laurence was shouting something as well, and the dragon veered off to the west.  
_You rat-fucking, sonofa-_ Nathan began to think, then saw the vast black body angling back towards him without as much effort, and then he was swamped once before, and it was more of a consideration to get back to the surface.  
He managed it, and turned to see Laurence dangling by his legs from the harness, upside down, arms reaching down.  
Nathan started treading water in earnest, holding both arms up, and proceeded to grab both of Laurence's arms, and with an effort of upper body strength, managed to haul himself up high enough to grab Temeraire's harness.

And then a moment later they were back over the deck.  
Temeraire landed on his hind legs, but the wind threatened to cast him down and overboard.  
Nathan was just about to drop to the deck and try and haul the dragon down himself, but then he dropped to the deck, making the ship shudder with the impact.

Laurence was clawing at the harness desperately, and Nathan looked around frantically for a knife, despite his hammering heart.  
Then one of the sailors was there with a knife and had cut the straps through, leaving Laurence to crawl to Temeraire's side.  
Nathan followed the man's example.

'Thanks for the save there, I'm not sure I could've managed to get to those ropes.' He said, with an incongruous grin on his face at having cheated death. _Bloody adrenaline_. He thought privately.  
'Temeraire, that was, bravely done,' Laurence said, exhausted. 'Very bravely done.' He repeated.  
'Oh.' Temeraire replied uncertainly.  
'You did good.' Nathan affirmed, slapping Temeraire's side affectionately. 'You, and Laurence just saved my life.' He repeated.  
Temeraire cautiously extended one wing to cover him and Laurence.  
'And thanks again.' Nathan said, hunkering into Temeraire's side in an attempt to stay warm.  
Before he quite knew it, he was asleep.

* * *

Nathan gazed after Temeraire as he and Laurence went off to fish for Temeraire's breakfast.  
He was about to pass comment to Riley when the line he'd cast gave a jerk, and the bell he'd cobbled together from a soft piece of iron and a nail began jingling, and he grabbed the rod with both hands, gave the rod a solid yank to hook the fish, and then began to wind in the reel, pausing and hauling against the fish every time it renewed it's attempt to escape the hook.  
'Someone give me a hand here!' Nathan called, upon seeing the big tuna attempting to struggle away. 'I've got a big one!' He added, and after another moment's distant fighting, one of the midshipmen,-Gordon, Nathan was fairly sure the man's name was,- came up with the gaff and skilfully hooked the fish, and helped Nathan pull the catch up.  
'Well, that's tea tonight, I guess.' Nathan said, catching the dangling fish hook before it could do for an eye.  
The midshipman grinned.  
'Might be for the officers, you might want to try getting a second one for us hands.' Gordon replied, but a triumphant cry from the other side of the deck,-signalling the hooking of another big fish, which after an epic half-hour struggle turned out to be a turbot.  
Having paid obligatory compliments over the catch, Nathan quit the deck and went to his cabin to pull out his guitar, then returned to the deck.

It was too nice a day to just play in his cabin.  
He played absentmindedly for a while, before trying his hand at trying to do the cording to _Avant La Tempete_ right.  
Being a very tricky instrumental, it was slow going, and he soon gave it up in favour of _When the Rain Tumbles Down in July_.

He looked up having completed the final chorus to find he'd gathered a small audience.  
'Yes?' He asked calmly, as if to enquire what they were all doing.  
The sailors shifted uncomfortably and dispersed to their work without commenting.  
'Mr. King, if I might have a word?' Captain Riley asked a few moments later from the captain's cabin.

Nathan stood, stretching his cramped muscles as he did, then walked into the cabin having resettled his shirt.  
'Problems, captain?' Nathan asked tentatively. 'If I'm too much of a disruption, I can easily just stick to my cabin when I feel inclined to play.' He added.  
'No, no, no, you have me all wrong.' Riley replied quickly. 'Lord, no, I only meant to offer you to dine with the rest of the officers tonight, and maybe you could demonstrate some more of those songs,-what was that one that you kept stopping and starting over with?'  
'Avant La Tempete.' Nathan replied. 'It's a complicated piece, and of a style of music I don't generally try and play, because it's usually fiendishly difficult with a guitar, I usually just stick to the bush ballads I grew up listening to.' He said. 'And I'm not sure how much you'd like those, unless you've been to Australia. But, being still a convict colony at present, they'd probably give you the wrong impression; most of the songs I know evolved along with the culture.' He added.  
'I don't think anyone would make any bones if you just say you've been there, and that they were written by men who have high hopes for the country.' Riley suggested.  
'I dunno…' Nathan said, scratching the back of his neck uneasily, then brightened. 'I do know a few that wouldn't raise too many questions though.' He added.

* * *

Nathan once again found the dinner more of a chore than necessary, having to watch his tongue so as not to change history.  
Being a fast and efficient eater, Nathan managed to finish his courses early, and upon casting a questioning glance at Riley and receiving a small nod in return, Nathan briefly excused himself and went to retrieve his guitar.

'Oh, what are you doing, Mr. King?' Temeraire asked curiously, evidently just dozing.  
'Just about to demonstrate my skill with a guitar, listen in if you'd like.' Nathan replied briefly, before entering his cabin and retrieving the instrument in question, before returning to the stateroom.

'Alright gentlemen, Captain Riley convinced me this morning to give you a song or two, the first of which, some of you might be familiar with, if any of you have ever served on a ship taking convicts to Sydney: Bound For Botany Bay:'  
So saying, Nathan struck the opening chords, then proceeded to sing:  
'_Farewell to old England forever, farewell to my home town as well, farewell to the well-known old bailey, where I used to cut such a swell; singin' too-ra-lie, oo-ra-lie at-it-tee, too-ra-lie, oo-ra-lie-ay, too-ra-lie, oo-ra-lie at-it-tee, we're bound for Botany Bay…'_ He sang the full three verses, then let the final notes die away into the quiet, and trying to hide the fact he'd made at least three mistakes in the third verse regarding chording. He resolved to practice it the next time he had a quiet moment.

'Never thought I'd hear that one turned to a song,' one of the men from the gunroom said reminiscently. 'Best I ever heard it sung as well.' He added.  
'Do you know any others?' Riley asked curiously.  
'Well,' Nathan said, already strumming the strings, 'what's the harm in another?' He said with a hint of indulgence. _'I've put up the sheep-break and tied up the dogs, built a good fire of dry gidgee logs, so tie up the night horse and hobble the rest, we can sit down by the campfire and rest…'_ The chording to the song, _Campfire Yarn,_ being more simplistic than _Bound For Botany Bay,_ Nathan managed this one without any mistakes, though he refrained from the yodelling Slim Dusty would've added between stanzas.

That aside, the song was as well-received as the previous, though it cost a question regarding its origins.  
'Oh, I heard it out at Sydney, apparently some intrepid settlers have tried to establish farm out beyond the Blue Mountains.' Nathan replied. 'Me, I went in search of gold…' and promptly launched into his third,-and final,- song of the evening: _To The Shores of Botany Bay._

'_I'm on my way down to the quay where the good ship _Mildrith_ lay…'_ This last was well received as well, though it once again cost a question, this time from a young man named Battersea.  
'Is there gold to be found in Australia?' He asked.  
Nathan couldn't help grin.  
'Yeah, plenty of it, if you know where to look; I didn't, but I did find gold of a different nature, after all: '_'All that is gold does not glitter'._' He replied.  
'Oh?' Battersea asked, confused.  
'Australia is full of nature's wonders: The Great Barrier Reef, Botany Bay, The Blue Mountains, and I'll be damned if there aren't sights as spectacular further south towards Van Dieman's land or further out west beyond the mountains.' Nathan elaborated.

Conversation turned away from Nathan's music and after a while, went instead to dragons:  
A subject Nathan knew little about beyond legends, and was more than willing to just listen and learn about.  
To his surprise, he learned that not all dragons in this alternate world breathed fire:  
Most couldn't, but some could spit poison, and some had taken that gift to a truly chilling level: the ability to spit honest-to-god, eat-anything, _acid.  
_Privately, Nathan resolved to borrow Pollitt's books on the subject and compose his own comprehensive notes.

The dinner ended not long after, and Nathan came out with Laurence to be met by Temeraire, who raised a wing in welcome.  
'That was very nice music you played.' Temeraire said, approvingly.  
'Cheers.' Nathan said, yawning wide.  
'Laurence, do you think I will be able to breath fire or spit poison?' I'm not sure how I could tell; I tried, but I only blew air.' Temeraire said.  
'Did you hear us talking?' Laurence asked, startled.  
'Evidently, if he was listening from when I started playing.' Nathan replied, staggering up to go put his guitar away and losing track of the conversation, and came back to find the Laurence recounting the battle of the Nile, and Temeraire listening eagerly.  
He settled down to listen as well, occasionally asking questions of his own.  
After all, Temeraire wasn't the only one who wanted information on the world he found himself in.

**Well, that was quicker than I expected, but then this is a lot of fun.**

**I'm still building Nathan up: he's from the modern world, so he's got a lot of skills a lot of people from the period wouldn't have.**

**Being able to cook, clean and look after himself, for instance.**

**As for the guitar, and the songs, well I can't say much beyond that I felt it was a nice character touch.**

**And as for the weapons…He's going to find keeping them stocked with ammo might be a little tricky until he figures out how to make ammunition, so he's not going to get god-moded that way.**

**And I note now: I used the term 'miscellaneous camping gear' last chapter.**

**That term covers a large range of gear, so if I mention something not specifically stated in the inventory, odds are, I class it as 'miscellaneous camping gear', so don't go asking 'where did he get that?' and start spouting dates of inventions at me. Please.**

**So, thanks:**

**For Favouriting: PyroKitsune and Culebra del Sol.**

**For Reviewing: Culebra del Sol and Hideout Writer.**

**For the Favourite Author add which I got while doing the formatting on this: theycalledmevreal.**

**On another note, it's ANZAC Day.**

**To all Australia's and New Zealand's serving men and women around the world, I wish you all the best.**

**You're braver than I am, and deserve all the support of us back home.**


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter V

Time Upon the Island

**Disclaimer: See Chapter One.**

When they finally made it to Madeira, everyone aboard the ship was grateful to see port.  
Temeraire however, was curious, and Nathan was feeling nervous, despite shooting the curious who stared at him flat looks until they looked away, or inevitably took to staring at Temeraire instead.

'If it's all the same to you, I think I'll stay here; wouldn't want any _misunderstandings_ if you know what I mean.' Nathan said, referring both to how things were likely to go with the admiral Laurence and Riley were meant to report to, and what Temeraire was liable to get up to if his curiosity outweighed his self-control.  
'Very well Mr. King, we will return soon.' Laurence said.  
After having a quiet word with Temeraire, Laurence and Riley quit the ship to go and report.

Nathan took to pacing and studiously ignoring the curious bystanders until one of the crewmen he hadn't met presented Temeraire with a few lamb carcasses, which the young dragon dug into with his usual gusto.  
Nathan chuckled darkly as the bystanders quit the area to avoid observing the gory spectacle.

Being a veteran of many, many nature documentaries, from some about lions, to others about great white sharks, to others still about Komodo dragons, Nathan had better control of his stomach, and having grown up on a farm, was also a veteran of having to gut rabbits, so the smell wasn't that off-putting either.  
'You know, if you slowed down a bit, you'd actually get more of that meat down your gullet than down your front.' Nathan observed, leaning against the railing as Temeraire finished.  
'Oh? Why do you say that?' Temeraire asked curiously.  
'Simple, if you slowed down, you wouldn't flick as much meat and blood around from your meal, meaning that you'd have more to eat.' Nathan replied, then checked his watch.  
Roughly five minutes since Laurence had left.

'Do you know why I couldn't eat those things that were over there a moment ago?'  
'What?' Nathan asked, glancing up at Temeraire's question.  
'There were a couple of animals I'd never seen before, tied to a cart, and Laurence said I couldn't eat them. Do you know why I couldn't?' Temeraire elaborated.  
'Well, for a start, they were probably horses; they're not that good to eat, and they're more useful as beasts of burden and for travelling from one place to another quickly, because they can run faster than a man, and they can also do so for longer, and they don't tire as easily; they're also very valuable and the horses' owner probably would've lost a lot of money having to replace them.' Nathan replied.  
'What's money?' Temeraire asked.  
_Ah, crap. If the question of sex ever comes up, I'm leaving that to Laurence._ Nathan thought to himself.

'Money,' Nathan began, trying to figure out to phrase his answer, 'Essentially, it's a…' Nathan trailed off. 'Usually, they're little discs of metal that humans exchange for things like food or clothes.' He said. 'To get money, you have to earn it by doing jobs for someone else who has money, who in turn is probably directing a project for someone who gave them money to make that project work.' He finished lamely.  
'And how much do you have? You seemed to be doing an awful lot of work on our way here.' Temeraire asked.  
'None.' Nathan said simply, choosing to leave out he had about ten dollars Australian, in small change, and a hundred in notes in his bag, but it wasn't legal tender. He didn't particularly feel like explaining the whys and wherefores,-like the fact he was from another time. He very much doubted he could explain _that_ to the dragon's satisfaction where someone might overhear. 'Also, it generally isn't good manners to discuss how much money you have.'  
'Oh.' Temeraire said. 'Why not?'  
'If you've got a lot, the person you're talking with might want to steal it, or they might decide take offence at your boasting about it. If you have very little,-in this day and age, in particular- the person you're talking to will probably look down on you like they're better than you.' Nathan replied, and saw with some relief that Laurence was returning.

'_Bout time._ Nathan thought, pushing himself off the railing and going to fetch a bucket of water and a double handful of rags.

* * *

Nathan staggered a short distance from where Temeraire had landed in the valley and sunk to his knees, exhilarated and chuckling to himself.

'Are you well?' Laurence asked in concern, but Nathan waved him off.  
'She's right, just…that was fun.' He finished lamely, and stood, and turned around.  
His dark blonde hair looked flame-red in the sun, and had been blown out from his head in a not unimpressive halo, and he still had an adrenaline-induced idiot-grin plastered across his face.

Somehow, after they'd done wiping Temeraire down, Laurence had convinced him to come flying with them.  
As the harness had only been rigged with one passenger in mind, it had been an interesting flight to say the least, and partially why Nathan was currently riding an adrenaline high.

So saying, Nathan begun pacing back and forth, trying to alleviate the rush, vaguely listening to Laurence explaining the notion of property to the young dragon.

It occurred to Nathan then,-and he actually paused to think on it,-that Temeraire was barely two weeks old.  
And yet, he appeared to be more intelligent than several people he'd met in university, and a couple of them had been professors who were worth their credentials.  
He wondered if he should try and teach Temeraire everything he knew,- which in the context of the nineteenth century, his knowledge was nearly god-like, and if put in the hands,-or claws,- of a creature of such intelligence, that it might actually serve to advance his own.  
And then, at that moment, Temeraire unwittingly decided Nathan by arguing about the subject.  
An inquisitive mind was an asset, Nathan felt, but there were some things,-like the various balances and checks in place throughout society to maintain a semblance of fairness,-that you just didn't question.

'Mr. King, we're headed up to that hill, over there, will you accompany us, or will we come back for you?' Laurence asked, as Nathan's heart finally settled to its normal rhythm.  
'Yeah, I'm not sure if the local shepherd would believe me if I said a dragon and his rider left me in this field.' Nathan replied, jogging up.

* * *

Another short flight later, and Nathan found himself striding up the hill, and actually outdistancing Temeraire, who was apparently fascinated by everything to do with his surrounds.  
A sentiment Nathan could identify with, even if Temeraire's pointing out _everything_ was slightly annoying. But, given that he was only two weeks old and had been born at sea, Nathan was willing to be forgiving. For now. He was beginning to wish he'd followed Laurence's example and just left Temeraire to examine the cloud cover and every flower and pebble in the path and go have a lay down a bit further up the hill.

That was when Temeraire went walking past rolling a rock up towards Laurence.  
Nathan saw the pale gold-yellow glimmer of pyrite intergrown in the quartz, and figured then and there that Temeraire was a treasure-hoarder.

Out of curiosity, Nathan crouched by the hole left by the rock, and scraped away some of the dirt, until his fingers met rock.  
A little bit of industrious digging in the dirt with his bare hands, and he'd unearthed a second, smaller rock, and a little more digging, and some hard pulling later, and he'd pulled the thing free.  
Turning it over, and brushing the rock off, Nathan grinned.  
It'd been an extremely slim chance, but in this case it had been worth the effort.  
There, still flecked with dirt on the underside of this second smaller rock, was a small nodule of gold.

Nathan glanced up to see Temeraire walking on further up the hill, and Laurence standing there as if he'd just been told he'd won the million-dollar lotto.  
He hefted his prize and strolled up, looking very pleased with himself.  
'A bit of hard luck there for him, if he'd dug a bit further he would've found this.' Nathan commented cheerily, showing Laurence the gold nodule.  
'Well, that was a lucky find, however did you find that?' Laurence asked, sounding a lot cheerier than Nathan could remember him sounding beforehand.  
'Occasionally, pyrite can be found with small amounts of gold; I saw Temeraire rolling that rock he just showed you past, and figured I'd check and see if that was the case this time around; turns out it was worth the effort for once.' Nathan explained, remembering all the other false alarms he'd had on day trips to Soveriegn Hill and to other places around the gold fields of Victoria where he'd found some pyrite and decided to dig for gold.  
'You've done that before?' Laurence asked in amusement.  
'Not without some reasonable hope of success.' Nathan replied evasively.  
'So there _is_ gold in Australia?'  
'All that is gold does not glitter.' Nathan replied sagely, still in the same evasive tone. 'And what has you in such a fine mood anyway?' He asked.  
'Nothing, just something Temeraire said.' Laurence replied.

Nathan nodded. He figured he knew what Temeraire had said, if there was even a grain of truth to any of the stories he'd heard and read of dragons,-specifically those that took human companions.  
'Well, it's a shame, but good for you.' Nathan replied wistfully.  
'Are you jealous?' Asked Laurence in amusement.  
'Like you wouldn't believe.' Nathan replied with a good-humoured smile, but their was truth in his voice when he said it. 'And if dragons are as rare in England as you say, I'd wager I'm not going to be the only jealous one, but I'll probably the most understanding and least hostile.' He warned.

* * *

Two days later, Nathan found himself sitting on a stone fence practising _Bound For Botany Bay_ and _A Handful Of Dust_ to an audience of none,-excluding the cattle in the pen over the way, but, that was it.  
Laurence and Temeraire had gone off earlier to meet an academic friend of Laurence's,-a knighted member of the Royal Society no less,- who specialised in oriental and new-world dragon breeds, to try and identify Temeraire, and Nathan had decided to stay behind.  
He wasn't going to have to explain time travel to an academic of that calibre and become the eighth wonder of the world when said gentleman inevitably told the Society, and then have to give up all his aces, and besides, it was none of his business,-really,- to begin with.

It was getting on to around five thirty-ish, and Nathan was beginning to think about dinner.

The servant Laurence had hired, Fernao, was a taciturn fellow, and had a indifferent air that Nathan approved of.  
He didn't even raise an eyebrow at Nathan, nor ask any questions, so Nathan was even more inclined to like him.  
And on top of that, he was a good cook and could fix an excellent pot of tea.  
Under other circumstances, Nathan probably would've made shifts to make friends with him, but given how temporary the situation was, he didn't put himself forward beyond what he felt was polite.

Privately, he was very satisfied with himself.  
The gold nugget he'd unearthed had earned him nearly five hundred pounds, and that had been enough for him to commission a bowie knife, sketching out the design for the smith.  
A cutlass was all well and good, but a good gun and a good combat knife were just as good if you knew how to use them.  
He'd picked up the weapon that morning, and after testing it out on a practice target constructed from some straw stuffed sacks, he was viscerally satisfied with how it had performed.

He glanced up as he heard wings,-two sets if he wasn't mistaken, and yes, there was a grey dragon roughly as tall as a horse flying slightly ahead of Temeraire with a lanky looking rider on its back.  
He stopped playing and shouldered his guitar as he jumped from the fence.

'So, how'd it go?' Nathan asked, directing the question at Laurence as the man climbed down from Temeraire's shoulder.  
'If you'd be so kind as to go and tell Fernao to see to some refreshment, I'll give you the full of it momentarily.' Laurence replied, before turning his attention to the other man.

Nathan cast an appraising eye over him. He looked ready to be offended, was Nathan's initial thought, as he passed Laurence's instruction on to Fernao, but when he turned back, and saw Temeraire and the stranger's grey dragon taking a cow each, and noticed that the newcomer wasn't quite so bristly.  
_Guess I know the quick way to an aviator's heart now._ Nathan thought sardonically, as he headed for the sitting room to claim a seat, propping his guitar to the side.

'I have never seen one of the big ones share like that; what breed is he?' Asked the newcomer curiously, as they entered the room.  
Nathan perked up slightly. He was curious himself about Temeraire's breed.  
'I am not an expert myself, and he came to us without provenance; but Sir Edward Howe has just today identified him as an Imperial,' Laurence said, sounding slightly embarrassed, as if he felt this was showing off.  
'Are you- oh, Lord, you are not joking,' said the newcomer, recovering and handing off his leather coat to Fernao.

'You know how I said three days back how I was jealous?' Nathan asked Laurence.  
'Yes?'  
'I now feel obliged to inform you,-in the coarse fashion of my youth, so, excuse my French,- that in my opinion, you are the luckiest son of a bitch to ever walk the face of this green Earth.' Nathan said, unable to keep the envy from his voice.  
Laurence looked startled, obviously he hadn't thought him capable of that degree of profanity.  
Before he could reply, the newcomer stepped in.

'And who's this fellow?' He asked.  
'I'm Nathan King: presently, an educated bum looking to sign up.' Nathan replied, standing and offering his hand.  
'Captain Langford James, Dispatch Service, on Volatilus.' Captain James replied, apparently a little taken off guard by Nathan's forwardness, but evidently not affronted by it.

'Mr. King, you'd oblige me greatly if you'd mind how you speak in future.' Laurence said, a clear note of warning in his voice.  
Nathan shrugged.  
'You know, duelling I find is a good indicator of a man's character: if he chooses to duel instead of thinking of a good comeback, he's probably a bad tempered brute. If he makes a comeback, he's got a brain between his ears instead of a woodblock, and if he laughs it off, and makes a subtle comeback, the world would be a worse place without him.' He replied.  
'You would still do well to learn some manners.' Laurence said flatly.  
'Baby steps, Captain, baby steps.' Nathan said. 'Now, perhaps Captain James would like to know your circumstances?' He phrased it as a question as he accepted a cup of coffee from Fernao.  
'Yes, however did you come across him?' James asked, and Nathan sat back to enjoy Laurence's telling of the capture of the _Amitié_, and Temeraire's harnessing.

'So you see sir, I'm at something of a loss, Admiral Croft has written a dispatch to the Corps at Gibraltar asking for instructions regarding my situation, which I trust you will carry, but I confess I would be grateful for some idea of what to expect,' he finished.  
'Before I answer that, what's your story, Mr. King, your friend here said it's quite a tale.'

So, Nathan had to explain his own circumstances for the third time, and prove it.  
'Satisfied?' Nathan asked, pleased to note all the amused scepticism drain from Captain James' eyes, having shown the man,-who'd been slightly more sceptical than Laurence,- a five-minute sample of an episode of _City_ _Homicide_.  
'You've made your point.' James conceded. 'Well, I suppose we'll be glad to have you, Lord knows we don't get too many volunteers, and I suppose you'd have _something _that would be of use to us.' He added, casting a covetous eye at Nathan's desktop background, which displayed the five non-customisable members of Noble Team cresting a hill with their weapons held in various attitudes of familiarity.

Nathan secretly bet he was either eyeing Jorge's heavy machine gun, or Jun's sniper rifle.

'That picture isn't indicative of what I can do; those figures are fictitious characters, and the weapons are far more advanced than the equivalents in my own time,-though even they kick the pants off of a flintlock.' Nathan said.  
'You could give us something similar?' James pressed, excitedly.

Nathan looked at him in askance.  
'D'you think I'm morally bankrupt enough to give the _British Empire_ automatic weapons?' Nathan demanded. '_Without_ concessions regarding how it fights wars and how it treats captives and civilians?'  
'What's that supposed to mean?' Laurence asked.  
'Let me put it this way:' Nathan said. 'Before an international code of military conduct was drawn up at the close of the nineteenth century in my history, the British managed to accrue several incidents that under said code of conduct,-the Geneva Convention,- would've had the perpetrators up before an international court to be tried for war crimes.'  
Laurence and James looked troubled at this information.  
'So, while I am willing to give you an edge in weapons over other countries, there will be conditions attached.' Nathan said flatly. 'Namely, the ratification of the Geneva Convention, or a code of war very like it at any rate.'  
'Well, I can't say I have the authority to say yea or nay to that, but I'd say you'd have no trouble joining the Corps.' James said, diplomatically.

The conversation turned back to Laurence's dilemma then, and it turned out that Captain James couldn't help him in regards to advice.  
'I'll spare you any more waiting: I'll pop over to the landing grounds, get the post, and take your admiral's dispatch over tonight. I shouldn't be surprised if you'll have a senior cap over to see you before dinnertime tomorrow.'  
'I beg your pardon, a senior what?' Laurence asked, sounding desperate.  
'A senior captain, you'll make a flyer, I almost forgot I wasn't talking to one.' James replied, in a way that Nathan construed it as a handsome complement.

* * *

Evidently, James's estimation was accurate, because around eleven the next morning as Laurence headed into town, a gigantic gold and red dragon soared overhead, heading for the landing grounds.  
Seeing this, Nathan let out an impressed whistle, then decided to put on a fresh change of clothes.

These ended up being the clothes he'd arrived in, with the addition of a sturdy belt, on which hung his bowie knife and his SIG.  
He polished his boots, and left with nothing else to attend to, went back outside to continue copying out a copy of the Geneva Convention from his computer.

He'd meant to clean out his hard drives months previously, and get rid of all the stuff he'd done at Uni, but life had always seemed to get in the way.  
Now, some of the stuff on there,-like how to construct bullet proof glass,- was priceless, and the Geneva Convention was now doubly so.  
His handwriting wasn't the best, but since the previous evening, he'd written out roughly three quarters of all the documents involved with Laurence's help, and he was bidding fair to do them all.  
Around two o'clock, he put his pen down triumphantly and stretched his cramped hand.  
He'd been main-lining caffeine for the past six hours, and only grabbed a few hours sleep, but he had just finished the final part of the nineteen seventy seven Protocol II.  
The most important document, the nineteen forty-seven Geneva Convention was already dry and packed away, along with its four previous fellows.

Nathan was fairly sure the British wanted what he could give. He'd also stumbled across several half-done stories of the steampunk genre, which he remembered he'd been writing in the hope of one day getting published, along with volumes of notes regarding modern weaponry, and how it functioned, as well as breakdowns on twentieth century artillery, which he now made back ups of on the blank hard drive to ensure he didn't lose it.  
After saving the lot, and shutting down the laptop to do a recharge later on.

He'd just finished stretching out his badly cramped hand, and woken his legs up from sitting down for so long, when he spied a small band of men in green coats coming towards the cottage.  
They were still a ways off yet, and probably hadn't seen him, so, Nathan packed his table back inside, carefully packed the hard copy of the Geneva Convention away in his bag, and fetched his guitar, before heading outside again to strum a few tunes.

* * *

'…_And I just need to know what's worth the fight…'_ Nathan sang before he finished the final chording of the song.  
He wasn't too startled to get a slow, slightly mocking handclap for the performance from behind him.  
Swinging around on top of the fence, Nathan dropped to the ground, guitar in one hand to be met by a tall, hawk-nosed man in a green coat, flanked by a small posse of similarly clad men.  
'Afternoon, what can I do for you fellas?' Nathan asked, in his most casual and friendly tone.

There was that same bristling, cold hostility in this man's bearing that had been in Captain James's.  
This caught the man slightly off guard, and neither he, nor his posse spoke for a moment.  
'I suppose you're that nutter Langford mentioned last night when he passed on that dispatch regarding him.' The man said, indicating Temeraire, who was presently dead to the world, sound asleep.  
'D'you have any idea how sick I'm getting of having to explain the mechanics of time travel? _And_ having to provide evidence to prove it?' Nathan countered, then softened slightly and took a step forward, extending a hand. 'The name's Nathan King.' He said.  
'Portland. Captain on Laetificat, of His Majesty's Aerial Corps.' Portland replied, taking Nathan's hand in a strong grip.  
There was a strange mix of confidence and resignation in the man's tone.  
'Now, what's this I hear about you wanting to join the Corps?' He asked.

'Well,' Nathan said, putting his guitar across his shoulders, 'I'm stony broke, and from what I hear, you're short on volunteers,-'  
'There's a reason for that.' Said a man about Nathan's own age from Portland's right,-a little aggressively,-he had red hair, a pale complexion, and freckles which stood out in relief to his features.  
'I gather that tales like 'St. George and the Dragon', and 'The Lambton Worm' aren't popular in the Corps, then?' Nathan said in a sarcastically interrogative tone. 'Every man and his dog outside of your service might be scared of dragons, but I think you'll find I've got a bit more intestinal fortitude than that.' He added firmly.  
The red haired man looked about as perplexed as Portland had been at Nathan's answer, then he grinned knowingly. 'We'll see, if you ever go aloft.' He replied.  
'Looking forward to it,' Nathan replied. 'Say, where's Laurence?' He asked, noting the former Naval Captain was nowhere to be seen.  
'His services are no longer required, Lieutenant Dayes is here to relieve him.' Portland replied briskly, indicating the red haired man.

Nathan put his guitar at his feet, and leaned on the instrument, giving Portland and his men a long, steady look.  
'You know, dragons might be hearsay and myth in the world I herald from, but a persistent facet among many legends associated with them, is that they don't change their minds easily, and call me crazy, but Temeraire doesn't seem the type to me to walk out on Laurence just 'cause it'd suit you and your leftenant.' Nathan observed.  
'And suddenly, you're an expert on dragons?' Dayes asked, derisively.  
'No, Nathan replied, choosing to ignore the ridicule, 'but, I'm a fair judge of character, and disregarding the fact Temeraire's a dragon, personality-wise, he seems like an intelligent, loyal, curious youngster, and not inclined to accept bullshit; no matter how official the channel it comes down.' He finished with a shrug, then stood up straight again, hefting his guitar. 'But, if you insist, I won't stop you from making an ass of yourself if you're dead-set on trying to persuade him; anyone for a drink?' He queried.

* * *

Nathan checked his watch:  
Eight o'clock, or near enough to.

At the table sat Dayes, staring at the table in depressed fury, nursing the hot, black tea Nathan had fixed sullenly. He was glaring at him accusingly.  
'What?' He asked incredulously, 'I'm not going to say: 'I told you so,' and I hadn't spoken to Temeraire the whole day, I was too busy copying out a few documents that whoever wants to enquire about those weapons I mentioned might be interested in reading.'  
Dayes didn't stop glaring.  
'What?' Nathan repeated.  
Dayes didn't reply, as Laurence entered the room, out of breath.  
'Is something wrong?' He asked. 'Is Temeraire ill?'  
'No, he has refused the replacement.' Portland said mildly.

With a heroic effort, Nathan kept his teeth clamped, and his lips sealed, but he still couldn't help but quietly hum: 'I told them so.'  
Fortunately, Dayes decided to vent his feelings, and any inaudible, unintelligible humming Nathan may or may not have made was drowned into obscurity by the lieutenant's outburst.

'It's not to be borne!' He shouted angrily. 'An Imperial in the hands of some untrained Navy clodpole and a conceited narcissist-' He was stifled by his friends, but Nathan was stung by the remark.  
'Who exactly are you calling narcissistic? Sure I'm sure of myself, but I'm not narcissistic.' He replied, injured, and Dayes's eyes narrowed, and he made to lunge at Nathan, who put aside his own tea and stood. 'Try it, and I'll have you flat on your arse.' He said flatly, vaguely hearing Laurence's own response of:

'Sir, you must answer. That is more than enough.'  
'Stop that; there is no duelling in the Corps,' Portland said, 'Andrews, for God's sake, put him to bed and get some laudanum into him.' And presently, Dayes and his restrainers left the room, Nathan watching them all the way, ready if Dayes managed to slip the men restraining him.

When they were gone, the only people in the room, were a still-wary Nathan, a stiff and angry Laurence, a weary-looking Portland and a statuesque Fernao standing in the corner with a port decanter.

'A gentleman can't be expected to tolerate such remarks.' Laurence said angrily.  
'_Au contraire_, Captain,' Nathan said, 'duelling was outlawed in my own history around the close of the nineteenth century, and if you meant to try to offer a challenge in my own day and age, you'd more likely be thrown in prison for disorderly behaviour and making threats to kill.'  
Portland gave Nathan a sideways look.  
_You weren't expecting anything like agreement from me, were you?_ Nathan thought privately.  
'An aviator's life is not only his own, he cannot be allowed to endanger it so pointlessly,' Portland said flatly, looking between Nathan and Laurence. 'There is no duelling in the Corps.'

Nathan thought of several highly inventive alternative forms of challenge at this pronouncement, opened his mouth to make comment and caught Portland's sharp look and the remark was instantly replaced by:  
'Fine with me, I can retort with verbal abuse and sarcasm.' And he couldn't help but smile faintly.  
'It's no joking matter.' Portland said sternly, and Nathan suppressed the offending twitch.  
'Yes sir.' He said evenly, standing straighter.  
'Look, go off and get drunk or something, I'll speak with you later.' Portland said, waving Nathan off.  
Nathan did so, exiting the cottage and heading back towards the field, where Temeraire was hunched low.

The great head rose as Nathan headed for his tent, and after a brief internal debate, he sighed and approached Temeraire.  
'Laurence'll be out shortly, and I don't think you need worry about that Dayes fellow,' Nathan said reassuringly.  
'Would you please stay?' Temeraire asked, sounding queerly vulnerable.

Kissing his sleeping bag goodbye for at least a while longer, Nathan acquiesced, and took to pacing.  
'Out of interest, what did you do to him?' Nathan asked, after a brief struggle with curiosity.  
'Oh, he tried to take the chain Laurence gave me, so I pushed him away,' Temeraire replied.  
'Well, looks like you'll be staying with Laurence, and I wish you all the best.' Nathan said.  
'What about you?' Temeraire asked. 'That Dayes person said you hated dragons, and considered us stupid animals, and would much rather a ship.'

Nathan stopped incredulously when he heard the first two charges, but burst out laughing at the third.  
'Well, that's the best joke I've heard all week,-me in the Navy,-Lord have mercy.' Nathan chuckled, then grew serious. 'Seriously, if I thought you were stupid, and hated you, d'you think I'd stop and talk when there was something else I'd rather be doing? Of course I wouldn't, but as it happens, you're pretty damn intelligent, you're good conversation, _and_ you don't judge me because I act a bit different to everyone else; it's hard _not_ to like you, even if most people here are terrified of dragons.' Nathan replied. 'As for me…' Nathan shrugged. 'I might, depends on what Portland thinks, but I wouldn't go getting too attached to me: Laurence is yours and you are Laurence's, I'm just along for the ride. If said ride brings me to a dragon of my own, we can still be friends.' He said, adding the last as sincere consolation. 'At the end of the day though, you'll always have Laurence.' He added, just as he heard said former Navy-Captain walking up.

He turned and with a waved 'goodnight', headed for his tent.  
'Portland wants a word with you,' Laurence called, before Nathan had gone five paces.  
Nathan promptly made a ninety degree turn and headed for the gate, leaving Laurence and Temeraire to make peace.

* * *

'You wanted a word, Captain?' Nathan asked, as he re-entered the living room.  
Portland was looking at the fire, with his back to Nathan, and didn't answer immediately.

'What do you hope to achieve?' Portland asked quietly.  
Nathan was perplexed a moment.  
'Oh, I dunno, some pay I suppose, society that's not going to look too much askance on how I conduct myself, and I wouldn't say 'no' if someone said I was a fit candidate for a dragon,-and all the responsibility that comes with the honour.' Nathan replied.  
'In short, you want to be an aviator.' Portland said, turning to face Nathan, and with the firelight at his back, he could almost have passed for any number of fictional war heroes,-some of them centuries away in terms of time. 'But that's not entirely what I meant: I heard Langford's report of you, and after what you showed me this afternoon, I believe you when you say you're from another time and place.' Portland said,-referring to some of a documentary about the Second World War, as well as the laptop itself. 'I meant, what do you hope to achieve by forcing that Geneva Code on us with the bribe of better weapons?'

Nathan paused and considered this before he answered.  
'Call me a sentimentalist, but…some of the things the British Empire did in my own history: The atrocities they committed in the Boer War against the Boers, the slave trade, the Opium Wars, and the out and out racism and unwarranted superiority of most of the aristocratic types…They did some pretty bad stuff, and if I can bind the Empire to a more humane way of running things with the designs for revolutionary weapons, I'll do it; my conscience wouldn't let me be if I didn't do what I could to correct the injustice.'

Portland regarded Nathan sternly.  
'That sounds remarkably insulting from where I'm standing.' He said.  
'Some of that stuff hasn't happened yet, some of it has, and some is still happening; I don't say you're better or worse for possessing dragons, but you haven't set them on the peoples of the lands you've colonised, so…' Nathan shrugged equably, 'I'm looking back on events with the benefit of hindsight from a slightly more just time period,-but I'm doing some speculation,-factoring in something like an air force of dragons changes things.'  
'Only reason I haven't shot you yet.' Portland said. 'Just one question: how does this war with Boney sort itself out?'

Nathan stood there for a long moment, regarding Portland.  
'That's one piece of information I think it might be better if you didn't know,' he said carefully, and refused to say further. 'If I tell you, the very opposite might happen because you and anyone you might feel obliged to tell might act differently, and alter the outcome.'  
Portland finally ceded the point.

'What can you do for us in terms of weapons, anyhow?' He asked.  
'Without revealing anything specific, I can say with reasonable certainly that when you've got the design of the gun I have in mind to give you, the fire rate, accuracy and efficiency will increase by about two thirds, and reload time of your guns would be reduced by two thirds or more. And that's for cannons and artillery.' Nathan replied. 'As to guns…' He shrugged. 'With a bit of tinkering to a design I know, you could probably manage about twenty-four shots a minute, or eighteen if you cared to aim.'  
Portland looked sceptical.  
'I'll believe that when I see it.' He said. 'Well, I can see no reason not to let you join the Corps, but I think for convenience's sake you'd better stay with Laurence, I'll contrive to have some commission post made up for you,-tactics advisor, perhaps, if any of those air-ship manoeuvres you showed me can be translated to dragon formations,-and we'll go from there.'  
'Thank you, sir. I won't let you down.' Nathan replied.  
'We're departing tomorrow, I'll make sure Laet doesn't crush that tent of yours when we come up, but don't be surprised if she wants it for herself.' Portland warned, and Nathan silently resolved to take off the silver-grey rain cover; it wasn't that cold, and his sleeping bag was warm enough he could sleep in the Antarctic in it and not be cold.

**Well, there's a nice long chapter for you.**

**I figured I'd get Madeira out of the way quickly, because I'm anxious to get things to England, where there's a bit more drama to be had.**

**I'm not entirely sure how this'll go, but it may end rather a steampunk-style of story in the end.**

**So, the people I owe thanks to this time around:**

**For Story Alerting: Lesychan, StackerWlf and jayb98.**

**For Reviewing, I'd like to thank: Hideout Writer, soldier of knowledge, Culebra del Sol, and simarikv.**

**Now, simarikv: No, Nathan won't be getting an Imperial. He **_**will**_** get a dragon of his own later however. But his powers of persuasion and his skill with a guitar aren't that good, and nor are his skills with Chinese, though he's a good enough hand at Japanese and he'll definitely be learning French.**

**As for restraining myself as to what others want to read, I work on the principle that if I don't want to read it, then I don't publish it.**

**And a longer chapter? Well… does the above work for you?**

**Well all, 'til next time:**

**No One-liners!**


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter VI

Escape From- Oh, Wait, Nevermind...

**Disclaimer: See Chapter One. I'd better add I don't own anything recognisable from any TV show, movie, book or song,-which will usually be italicised.**

Nathan awoke to the opening to ACDC's _Evil Walks_ blaring over his now near-useless mobile phone at five-thirty in the morning, and he hastily stopped the song before the noise disturbed anyone in the vicinity,-Temeraire mainly,-before he hastily got dressed, pulling on a pair of thermals underneath his usual clothes, and began to pack up.  
At six, just as the sun was coming up, he tied his tent to his pack, and did up all the zippers.

With nothing else to do before breakfast, he once again took to practicing his martial-arts, pressing himself to perform the various _kata_ to the best of his ability, and to the point where he began to feel the exertion.  
What use was there in only practicing until you began to feel tired? A fight wouldn't wait for you, so you just had to push through the discomfort.  
That was the reasoning Nathan had been taught during the biweekly classes, and it was a reasoning he felt had perfect justice in it, and abided by now.  
He stopped only when Temeraire awoke, and Laurence came out to see to him, and headed inside ravenous to the breakfast Fernao had prepared.

Nathan was back outside, once again practising _Avant La Tempete_, with some small progress when Portland descended on the field with Laetificat.  
He stood, and lowered his guitar as he craned his neck to take the dragon in:  
It was huge: sixty metres from nose to tail at a guess, red and orange in a patterning that suggested it was afire, and the tremor in the Earth as it alighted very nearly staggered Nathan.  
Almost as soon as she was comfortable, and had looked Temeraire over, she turned to examine Nathan with a wide eye, rearing up and back, as if she couldn't see him very well at close quarters.

'Good morning there Sunshine, and what can I do for you?' Nathan asked, leaning against the fence in an attitude of cheery indifference.  
The dragon's sheer size was intimidating, but Nathan would be damned if he let that get to him, and give Portland and his men cheap satisfaction.

The dragon came down again, and this time the tremor actually did knock Nathan off balance.  
'Well, you're nothing like Portland said you'd be like; he was so sure you'd go hysterical with fright when you saw me,-that is, if I am speaking with Nathan King, of course, and not with William Laurence.' She said, appraising Nathan, as if to gauge his reaction.  
'I don't scare that easy.' Nathan replied with a small smile, it turned sour a second later, his heart skipped a beat as he felt something delicate, and hairy on his hand. '_Fuck!_' He bellowed in fright, and jerked his hand spasmodically, sending a large brown spider flying off his hand, landing some distance away in the grass.

''I don't scare that easy',' indeed,' said Portland dryly, from where the dragoness had placed him on the ground from her taloned hand.  
Nathan took a few deep breaths, and leaned back against the fence.  
'Put it this way: I'm not frightened of dragons; I do, however, hate spiders,-and I just had one attempt to crawl up my arm.' He replied defensively.  
It was hard to tell, but Nathan thought he saw Portland smirk.  
'Don't tell me you don't have your own little phobias,-I wouldn't put it past you to be claustrophobic, or something.' Nathan said scathingly, directing a pointed look at Portland.

Portland shrugged.  
'It doesn't matter, I take it you're prepared to go already?' He asked.  
Nathan nodded.  
'I've been ready since six this morning. I've had time to practice martial arts, my guitar, _and_ have breakfast while I was waiting for you.' He said, as Temeraire stirred in the background, and Laurence came out of the house.  
'Martial arts?' Portland asked.  
Nathan rubbed his neck self-consciously.  
'Hand to hand combat, they're mostly based off fighting styles that originated in Asia,-that's the Orient to you. The key difference between most martial arts and most fighters of the Western world is that while they take longer to learn, you can usually kick the living shit out of anyone who just brawls; and in some cases: that is _almost literal_.' He explained.

Portland nodded amiably, in a manner that told Nathan he didn't believe it.  
The scepticism wasn't anything new. Plenty of dickheads in Uni had been sceptical, and all too many of them had mockingly shown their own 'skillz'. Much to his private disdain and amusement.

'That said, I haven't really paid that much attention to them over the past couple of years, so I'm practicing whenever I have a spare moment and can be sure I won't have to deal with ridicule for it.' He added, with a touch of embarrassment.  
'And why would you be embarrassed of this fighting style?' Portland asked blandly.  
Nathan proceeded to demonstrate a crescent kick, followed by a head-height roundhouse kick.  
'Okay, that did look kind of ridiculous.' Portland admitted.  
'You wouldn't want to get hit in the head by a boot heel or someone's shin though, would you?' Nathan asked rhetorically.  
Portland nodded slowly in recognition of the validity of the point.  
'I suppose not.' He admitted. 'You must have good balance to be able to do that without falling over.' He added, with something like grudging respect.  
'You learn it, or you get laughed at for tripping over your own feet.' Nathan replied.  
'I can imagine.' Portland replied, as in the background Temeraire roared.

He'd been holding a not-so-quiet discussion with Laetificat before now, one Nathan had been ignoring.  
'No, throw your chest out deeper, like this.' Laetificat said, rearing up and throwing up her own massive chest, which expanded even further as she breathed in, then roared.  
When she was done, Temeraire mimicked the motion, and managed a louder roar.

'I'd call that 'cute', but, I don't think I'd qualify as 'mentally stable' if I counted that in the category.' Nathan said with a small smile.  
'Your even more insane than I first thought.' Portland said. 'I think you'll fit in just nicely.' He said with his own smile, as well as an approving nod, then turned to talk with Laurence about the upcoming flight.

* * *

As the conversation had nothing to do with him, and he couldn't contribute anything useful, he strode back over to his bags to put his guitar away.  
'Excuse me.'  
Nathan closed the clasps on his case to see Dayes standing rather self-consciously behind him.

'Morning Lieutenant. What can I do for you?' Nathan asked, neutrally.  
'I…I want to apologise for my behaviour last night.' Dayes said, flushing slightly with embarrassment.

Nathan waved the apology aside.  
'Apologies are only necessary if the other person was offended. You were distraught, and pissed off. For my part, I don't really hold it against you. But for future reference: I happen to like dragons, and I fail to see what's so 'glorious' about naval combat, so I'd take a dragon over a ship any day.' He replied, and Dayes flushed to the roots.

'I take it Temeraire told you about that?' Dayes said, looking down in embarrassment.  
'I don't particularly like liars.' Nathan said sternly. 'And what you attempted with Temeraire last night I can't call anything short of outright bastardry, but I'm willing to forgive and forget. Captain Laurence is the one you should be a bit more worried about.' He added.

Dayes was suddenly very interested in the grass at his feet.  
Nathan extended his hand.  
Dayes looked up with something like regret, but he accepted the gesture at any rate.

* * *

Portland put the call out to his ground crew as his full sixty-man command came up the hill to begin the process of rigging Laetificat out in the gear she'd put down when she'd come up.  
Nathan watched on in interest, noting how everything fit together, turning Laetificat from 'gigantic living engine of destruction,' to 'gigantic living, flying war-machine'.

He watched as his own gear was put,-somewhat haphazardly into Laetificat's belly-rigging, before she stood and attempted to pull it free before reporting: 'All lies well.'

'Mr. King, come on over.' Portland said, beckoning for him to come forward.

Temeraire gave a rumble of protest at this.  
Nathan turned to address the younger dragon, as well as Laurence.  
'Sorry Temeraire, but you're only rigged out for one rider.' He said apologetically.  
'But…you said you'd stay with us.' He said plaintively.  
'I'll be going with you to England, so I'll be on the transport and more than likely I'll be going with you to wherever you'll be doing training; it's only for a couple of hours, don't be such a baby.' Nathan replied, before continuing to where Portland was waiting with what looked like a rock-climber's harness.

'You'll need this.' Portland said, 'it's so-'  
'-I can latch on to a convenient hook or something on a dragon's harness so I don't fall or get thrown off?' Nathan queried.  
'Yes, how did you-' Portland began.  
'I've seen something similar used for rock-climbing before, now, let's see if I remember how to do this…' he said, before Portland had finished, taking the harness from Portland and stepping into it.

Two minutes later, he finished adjusting the various buckles.  
Portland looked him over critically, then pulled on the straps.  
'You're either a natural, or a no-it-all.' Portland said.  
'If it makes you feel any better, I've never been any good at rock-climbing,' Nathan said. 'Now, am I going to be riding in that big net, or do you all ride on her back?' He asked, hoping for the net. Untrained, he'd be worse than a liability on a dragon's back.

'You'll be with the ground crew in the belly-netting; it'll be safer that way.' Portland said, indicating to where the ground crew were already latched to the main harness in a tent-like enclosure, along with several other crewmen.  
Feeling slightly self-conscious, Nathan accepted a hand up, noting that many of the men there were regarding him with wary, and in some cases frosty looks.

He quickly crossed to a vacant spot a little apart from the rest of the ground crew, and after a cursory glance, found a metal ring to latch his carabiners to.  
He'd barely got them locked before there was an all-mighty lurch, and they were airborne.  
Through a gap in the tent-enclosure, he saw the island falling away, and couldn't help but grin idiotically, heedless of what the aviators might think.  
They took this for granted, but here he was, _flying with a dragon._

**I think I'll leave this here, and add a bit of filler for how the next week aboard the transport goes.**

**For Favouriting, I'd like to thank JAtkins, Wertmon 505, War Wraith, silentmidnightdeath and Kirala Mouse.**

**For Story Alerting I'd like tot thank GaBeRock, War Wraith, JAtkins, and DiaLin.**

**And finally, for reviewing, I'd like to thank: JAtkins, Hideout Writer and soldier of knowledge.**

'**til next time:**

**No One-liners.**


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter VII

Top Brass

**Disclaimer: See Previous Chapter.**

Nathan sat with one leg resting on the other, drumming his fingers on the side of his boot.  
He was sitting outside the office of two of the senior admirals of the aviators.  
No matter how this meeting went, he was still feeling very pleased with himself.

Evidently, word of his offer of 'wonder-weapons' in exchange for a place in the Aerial Corps and the signing of a code of war had piqued someone's interest, because a couple of hours after he'd made landfall with Laurence and Temeraire, he'd been given a date for an appointment to speak with senior figures on the Admiralty board and the War Office.

* * *

The meeting had taken roughly three hours, a lot of which after the pleasantries were done came down to clarifying points regarding the Geneva Conventions.

Fortunately, he'd managed to convince Laurence to read the codes over on the week long cruise aboard the transport, because as it had happened, things like nuclear warfare, nerve gas, and the restrictions on phosphorous incendiaries were inapplicable due to the fact they hadn't even been conceived yet.  
So a lot of stuff had been quietly written out.

In the meantime, he'd also learnt that he was mistaken on one of his assumptions regarding child soldiers:  
The age limit on who constituted a 'child soldier' was actually fifteen instead of eighteen, and if a child under this limit took up arms anyway, they were treated like normal combatants.  
The revelation left a bad taste in his mouth, as he'd figured he'd have an up-hill battle pushing it through, even with a carrot like the one he was dangling. To learn it was effectively cosmetic in this context didn't sit comfortably with him.

In the end, the various military men had said they'd get back to him, but after he'd outlined exactly what he'd meant to give them,-breech-loading cannons and artillery and breech loading rifles,- and how these innovations would increase fire rate and effectiveness, he'd seen at least two of the more sceptical men change their tune almost immediately,-especially after he showed them an animation of how quickly a breechloader could be loaded, fired, then reloaded, as compared to a muzzle loaded flintlock.  
_It was kind of hard to tell whether they were more fascinated by the guns or the laptop._ He thought to himself with some amusement.

He also recalled with some amusement that some of the generals had raised the issue of whether animals counted as combatants in regards to how POWs were treated.

'I've heard of horses, donkeys, cats, rats, dogs, pidgeons and even dolphins and elephants used in war. They were all treated with respect in the conflicts they were involved in, even when captured. If you mean to ask whether that applies to dragons, I can see no reason why not.' He'd replied, and had drawn a couple of chuckles from the assembled men.

'And what's this 'biological warfare?'' Asked another man, wearing a Navy officer's uniform.  
'That prohibits the use of diseases and the like in warfare, so you can't go infecting the population of a besieged city with small pox, or turning a disease into a weapon.' Nathan replied. 'And once again, I'm pretty sure that was meant to be universal, so it'd probably go against using-' At this he stopped and frowned.  
'You were saying, Mr. King?' Asked one of the Aviator Admirals.  
Nathan shook his head.  
'I was going to say it might very well have meant you couldn't use dragons in combat, but I just realised that was ridiculous; they'd probably fall under the same category as heavy cavalry. But it could probably be construed that you can't go and deliberately infect another nation's dragons with a disease for your own advantage, but these weren't written with dragons in mind, so I'll leave that in the 'what if…?' pile for the moment.' He'd replied.

* * *

The door open and Laurence stepped out, looking slightly perplexed.  
'They're expecting you.' Laurence said sounding slightly distracted, motioning to the door.  
'That's good, because they _did_ extend the invitation.' Nathan replied, standing and brushing past Laurence into the room and closing the door behind him.

'Morning Admirals.' He said, nodding to the two men, who he'd seen at the meeting with the other senior military men. 'Powys and Bowen, if memory serves, correct?' He asked.  
'Yes,' said Powys, regarding Nathan with a bemused look.

'If those designs are half as effective as you claim, you'll be knighted. You know that, don't you?' Bowen asked him.  
'No, I didn't, but I really wasn't thinking about it from a selfish perspective.' Nathan replied.

'You're aware that Captain Portland sent us a dispatch regarding recommending you for a position of,-' Powys broke off and dug out a dispatch and scanned it momentarily, then looked up again,-'Aerial Tactics Advisory Officer, coming in at a rank equivalent to that of a Lieutenant in His Majesty's Aerial Corps?' He asked, looking at Nathan measuringly.  
'He said he'd put in a good word or two, I just hope I can deliver; I do have a few suggestions regarding tactics, but from what I've managed to read up on the subject so far, current aerial warfare doesn't really put much stock in one-on-one, hit-and-run or wolf-pack tactics, and as to formation fighting, the only modification I can suggest at present is using pincer movements as a counter.' Nathan replied.

'Pincer movement?' Asked Bowen, frowning.  
'Right, you either split your force and circle around the enemy's flanks and hit them in the sides,-and the rear if you've got enough troops,- or if you really want to get fancy, you leave a group of heavily entrenched soldiers,-or in this case heavyweight dragons,- in a position where the enemy is heading straight for them, and then hit them from both sides with lighter flyers, or you can reverse this if you're feeling particularly confident or vindictive.' Nathan explained, and at Powys's request sketched a diagram.  
'I think you might've paid your entry fee.' Bowen noted.

'You said you had a suggestion as well?' Asked Powys curiously.  
In response, Nathan pulled out his laptop, and proceeded to bring up a pre-prepared video file, which depicted a parachute deployment.  
'Well, that'd certainly be something,-a fine way to keep men who fall overboard from needlessly dying if nothing else,' Powys admitted.  
'I don't think you've quite grasped the full measure of how bad a headache you could give an opponent if you used this to deploy troops.' Nathan said.

Being military men,-albeit retired from active service,- they realised just what he meant a moment later.

'You mean, these could be used to drop infantry behind enemy lines?' Bowen asked sharply.  
'Artillery as well,-but you'd need a bloody big parachute.' Nathan confirmed. 'What I'm suggesting, is that you and the army commission a small corps of specialists to train in the use of this sort of thing,-I can provide designs for a simple parachute,- and then train them in the use of the best weapons you can provide, as well as in unconventional tactics, like individual accuracy with a rifle instead of volley fire, and taking cover behind things like walls, and then suppress the enemy,-breaking unit cohesion and making them duck or go to ground and the like.' Nathan said.

They were both quiet a long moment as they considered this, then, unexpectedly, Powys chuckled.  
'That'd certainly be a fine thing,-and it'd probably have its effect,- but you couldn't pay any normal soldier enough to get on a dragon unless it was an evacuation.' He said.  
'So, no one has really stopped to consider how the use of aerial deployment could be used to disrupt an enemy battle plan?' Nathan asked.  
'…No…'Powys replied.  
'I'd suggest you think about it; nothing gets under an enemy's skin like the unexpected arrival of a force from an unexpected quarter,-particularly if they have a mortar or cannon or dragon in tow. Or all three. There's actually an in-joke about it as well.' Nathan replied.

'You seem to know an awful lot about warfare for a self-confessed civilian.' Noted Bowen.  
'Part of coming from when I do; knowledge is readily available and we know more about the world than any time in the past. I'm not an expert on warfare. If you wanted anything better than what I can give, you'd have to take it up with my younger brother Daniel,-which I highly doubt you'll ever have the chance to do.' Nathan replied with a shrug.

Powys shook himself as Nathan closed his laptop again.  
'Yes, well, here is your commission,' he said, handing Nathan a sheaf of papers.

Nathan accepted them with a nod, and scanned over them.  
He frowned.  
'Syntax is a bit archaic to me, but if I'm reading this right, you're saying that I'm equal in rank to a Lieutenant, and am free to have my two cents on matters of tactics, as well as confirming my pay, forbidding me from duelling, welcoming me to the service, and…-' he scanned a passage somewhere near the middle again,- 'if I want to be promoted to a Captain, I have to earn the right via merit, correct?' Nathan queried.  
'Yes, you said you wanted to join the Corps. Not that you wanted a dragon,-and that would've been a far more…_difficult_ request to fulfil.' Bowen said. 'Also, we believe it for the best if we send you with Captain Laurence to Loch Laggan for training; you'd oblige us greatly if you don't discuss any aspect of your training with anyone outside the Corps, either.'  
'Fine by me.' Nathan replied. 'But I reserve the right to drop anyone mentally challenged enough to try and use standover tactics or intimidation. Call me crazy, but I just can't stand bullies.' He said.  
Bowen chuckled darkly.  
'Don't worry, you won't need to resort to anything like that; I don't think you'd care to try it either.'

Nathan turned the pieces over in his head as he realised what Laurence had been puzzling about.  
Then he snapped his fingers in realisation and stood straighter.  
'The instructor is a dragon, aren't they?' Nathan asked.

Powys and Bowen looked surprised.  
'How did you-' Bowen looked at him, eyes agog.

Nathan shrugged again and chuckled.  
'Lucky guess, deduction, take your pick, but the pieces were there: something similar is often used in fiction back in my own version of the world, and they're intelligent enough to make good teachers…' Nathan shrugged again modestly. 'Coupled with your request not to discuss the training and the seemingly irrational fear of dragons I've thus far encountered, it wasn't hard to figure that out as a logical reason.'  
'Very clever.' Powys said with a nod. 'Though, the fear of dragons isn't as irrational as you seem to believe; not all dragons agree to go into harness, and these wild dragons have been known to eat men if they're hungry enough.' He admonished.

'Well, I s'pose that's as good a reason as any.' Nathan replied easily, 'I guess I really shouldn't be surprised either,' he shook his head. 'If that'll be all, I'll be going then.'  
'Oh, wait, here,' Powys called, and Nathan stopped and came back over to them.

'These are yours,-bars of rank,- we'll see if we can't scare up something to denote you as a Tactics Officer,- and see about getting yourself a uniform as well.' Bowen said formally, handing the two little gold bars to Nathan.  
'Sir.' Nathan replied, coming to the form of attention he'd seen Danny use on parade at ANZAC Day the previous year in his own time.  
_That's going to get confusing really fast._ He noted to himself.  
'I'll see what I can do, but I don't have too much cash.' He said.  
Bowen nodded.  
'Just see to it you get a proper uniform as soon as you can. Dismissed.' He replied.

**You think I'm neglecting Laurence a little here?**

**I guess not,-it's still early and he hasn't faded into the background like in **_**Brothers in Arms**_**, but let me know.**

**So, next time…**

…**That extra-awkward dinner party at Laurence's family home?**

**I wonder what fun I could have there…**

**Guess we'll find out next time.**

**So, thanks this time around:**

**A gold star to JAtkins for the info regarding child soldiers under the Geneva Convention and pointing out that some stuff (e.g. nukes) were inapplicable.**

**For Story Alerting, I'd like to thank: silentmidnightdeath.**

**For Reviewing, I'd like to thank: JAtkins, Hideout Writer and silentmidnightdeath.**

**That's all for now.**

'**til next time:**

**No One-liners.**


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter VIII

That Awkward Dinner You Wish You Could Forget…

**Disclaimer: See Chapter Six.**

'I take it by that self-satisfied smile of yours that things went well?' Laurence enquired as Nathan strode into the clearing where Temeraire was waiting, currently being loaded up with repurposed hat boxes, and Nathan's effects, which being mostly irregular in shape weren't quite as easy to make fit.  
'Well, I got a commission, pay, something resembling respectability, and the benefit of the doubt from senior military figures in the Army, Navy and Air Force, and I'm pretty much guaranteed accommodation and food,-even if I have to pay board. Things turned out as well as I could've hoped for.' Nathan replied cheerily. 'So, where're we stopping tonight?' He asked, checking his watch: Twelve-Thirty PM, on the twenty-fourth of February.

'We'll be stopping at my family's estate in Nottinghamshire, then continue on to Loch Laggan in the morning.' Laurence replied.  
'I thought you said there was some…' Nathan waved his hand vaguely, 'friction over your choice of career in that department,' said Nathan. 'Is it really a good idea to antagonise them? I don't particularly feel like getting caught in the crossfire.'  
'Don't be ridiculous, it's the London season, my parents will be here, not out in the country.' Assured Laurence.  
'Alright, but I think I'll sleep under the stars tonight. Or clouds, whichever eventuates.' Nathan replied, unconvinced.  
'There'd be plenty of room to spare.' Assured Laurence.  
'There'll also be servants; most of my adolescent and adult life, whenever I've tried to palm chores off to someone, I've always been asked: 'what did your last slave die of?' or 'since when did you have servants?' Which in essence translates to: 'do it your bloody self, you lazy bastard'.' Nathan replied.  
'And what does that insight into your upbringing supposed to tell me?' Asked Laurence coolly.  
'I'm independent and proud of it. I can look after myself, and I don't particularly like having someone asking if I want help dressing in the morning.' Nathan replied, referring to the second morning he'd been aboard the _Reliant, _when Laurence's steward had offered to valet for him. Nathan had taken offence at the perceived slight, resulting in a dressing down from Laurence, and him making a rather awkward apology to the steward.

'Suit yourself.' Laurence said reluctantly. 'Temeraire, are those containers giving you any trouble?' He asked the young dragon immediately afterward.  
'They are quite comfortable; I do not notice them at all, except for Mr. King's gun and instrument case.' Temeraire assured him, looking down at them curiously, and with a look in his eyes that suggested he wanted to ask questions, but had decided to wait until later.

He reared up on his back legs and flapped to make certain the boxes in his improvised belly rigging were well-seated, just as Laetificat had done back on Madeira, and making Nathan doubly glad he'd made certain his two cases were locked securely, and the guns were unloaded and that he'd removed the firing pins.

'Look, I've already told you, it's just 'Nathan', he said in exasperation. 'You don't need to 'Mr. King' me unless the situation calls for formality.' But he gave up, as he saw Temeraire had his attention firmly fixed on Laurence.

'Can we not get one of those tents? It would be much more comfortable for you to ride out of the wind.' He asked.  
'I have no idea how to put them up, though my dear,' Laurence said, smiling up at Temeraire's concern.  
'But I will do well enough; with this leather coat they have given me I will be quite warm.'  
'Which means I'll be comfortably warm.' Muttered Nathan, and smirked. Thermal underwear, he'd found, was worth more than it's weight in gold when flying.

'It must wait until you have a proper harness, in any case; the tents require locking carabiners. Nearly ready to go, then, Laurence, Nathan?' Bowen had come upon them without their notice, and interjected himself into the conversation. He joined them standing before Temeraire's chest, and stooped a little to examine Laurence's bandboxes. 'Hm, I see you're bent on turning all our customs upside down to suit yourselves.'

'Fair go, I've only got my guitar and my gun-case in there, the hat boxes are Laurence's; I'll just be preaching innovation,-namely: better ways of doing things.' Nathan said, indicating his hiking pack,-which although weighing close on fifteen kilograms full, and with his tent tied to it, he carried it without much difficulty. With the flying harness, and the pack's own straps, he looked a lot like a paratrooper minus all the guns, gadgets and grenades.

'No sir, I hope not,' Laurence said, at almost exactly the same time, slightly coolly, which Nathan was learning to recognise as irritation on the Captain's part. 'But my sea chest was awkward for him to bear, and these seemed the best replacement I could manage on short notice.'  
'They may do,' Bowen said, straightening up. 'I hope you have as easy a time putting aside the rest of your naval thinking as your sea chest, Laurence; you must be an aviator now.'

'I am an aviator, sir, and willingly so,' Laurence said. 'But I cannot pretend that I intend to put aside the habits and mode of thinking formed over a lifetime; whether I intended it or not, I doubt it would even be possible.'  
Bowen fortunately took this without anger, but he shook his head. 'No, it would not. And so I told- well. I have come to make something clear: you will oblige me by refraining from discussing, with those not in the Corps, any aspect of your training. His Majesty sees fit to give us our heads to achieve the best performance of our duty; we do not _usually _care to entertain the opinion of outsiders. Do I make myself clear?' Bowen asked, shooting Nathan a significant look at the last part.

'Most of the stuff I've picked up about war involve how to _not die_; and you needn't worry about my opinion on how you operate,-unless I see something that either disgusts me or I simply can't abide, in which case you, and most likely the whole of the Corps will know about it.' Nathan replied.  
'Such as?' Bowen asked, suspiciously.

Nathan shifted a little.  
'Well, I've already had to make concessions regarding child soldiers due to when I am, but slavery and child molestation are two things I'm strongly opposed to. The latter I feel entirely justified in killing the perpetrator of.' He said.  
'You needn't worry about the latter; we take care of our cadets.' Bowen assured Nathan. 'As for the former…it's a non-issue in the Corps, no Captain keeps slaves, and not just because dragons have a rather loose definition of ownership, now I ask again: do I make myself clear,-to both of you?' He asked.

'Crystal.' Nathan replied easily.  
'Perfectly.' Laurence said grimly. 'Sir, if you would be so good as to tell me what makes the covert in Scotland more suitable than this for my training, I would be grateful to know what to expect.'  
'You have been ordered to go there; that makes it the only suitable place,' Bowen said sharply. Yet then he seemed to relent, because he added, in a less harsh tone, 'Laggan's training master is especially adept at bringing inexperienced handlers along quickly.'

_I'll bet._ Nathan mused, picturing just how hard a green handler would work to avoid a dragon's ire.  
'Inexperienced?' Laurence said, blankly. 'I thought an aviator had to come into service at the age of seven; surely you don't mean that there are boys already handling dragons at that age.' He asked, unconsciously causing Nathan's jaw to drop in surprised dismay, before he snapped it shut with an audible click.  
'No, of course not,' Bowen said. 'But you are not the first handler to come from outside of our ranks, or without as much training as we might care for. Occasionally a hatchling will have a fit of distemper and we must take anyone we can get it to accept.' He gave a sudden snorting laugh. 'Dragons are strange creatures, and there is no understanding them; some of them even take a liking to naval officers.' He slapped Temeraire's side, and left as abruptly as he'd come; without a word of parting, apparently in a better humour, and leaving Laurence hardly less perplexed than before.

'I'd take that with a grain of salt.' Nathan advised. 'And evidently, I'm going to have to watch my step a bit more than I thought if what he said about accepting anyone a dragon takes is a common occurrence.' He added grimly, before they mounted up, Nathan clapping his carabiners onto Temeraire's harness on his left side, While Laurence clamped onto his right.

* * *

The flight to Nottingham took several hours, time which Nathan spent mainly listening to his Ipod, alternating between an audio recording of Matthew Reilly's _Seven Ancient Wonders,_ music, one of the _Dragonriders of Pern_ series, and _Dead in the Water_,-A Ciaphas Cain audio drama.

When Temeraire paused in his flight a while to retrace a short distance to talk with Laurence, he ignored it.  
They were discussing the training.

He wasn't worried.  
He'd been in the scouts when he'd been ten right up until he'd turned fourteen; and he'd grown up on a farm. Early starts and hard work were nothing to him, especially coupled with his experience with martial arts classes.

His only concern was the people he'd be working with.  
Laurence was okay, but there was friction between them: He found Laurence too formal, and Laurence found him too relaxed.  
The other aviators were an unknown quantity, and the dragons were something else again.  
From what he'd gathered on the flight to the transport with Laetificat's crew, interfering with another's dragon could get you drummed out of the Corps, or killed by the dragon you were attempting to woo.

Nathan had no intention of wooing, but he'd privately begun to wonder on how his friendly, free and easy manner with people would go over with the Captains and dragons. He'd found Temeraire to be good conversation, and assuming other dragons were similar to him, he could easily see himself getting along, but he knew it'd be a bad idea to antagonise the Captains.

Shaking the thoughts off as Temeraire continued on his way and Laurence began recounting about the Spanish armada, he irritably turned up the volume on his Ipod, and reset the song, which he'd missed most of, being too absorbed with his thoughts.  
The song was _Gumtrees by the Roadway.  
_Nathan had no way of knowing how ironic he'd find that in a few hours time.

* * *

Evening was far advanced when they came upon the manor,-which to Nathan looked a spitting image to Downton Abbey, from the soap-opera of the same name.  
A lot of windows were lit up, and Nathan felt a suspicion form in the back of his mind.  
Laurence said something, and after a moment, Temeraire descended towards a paddock a little to the south of the manor.  
When they landed, Nathan unclipped himself and jumped to the ground, pulling his headphones out of his ears.

'Something you'd like to tell me?' Nathan asked sourly.  
'I'm sorry Nathan.' Laurence said, the first time he'd used Nathan's first name. 'It looks like my parents may indeed be here.' He admitted, sounding resigned.

'Great.' Nathan replied without much enthusiasm. 'And I take it you expect me to walk into hell with you?' He asked, with bitter sarcasm.  
'It would be rude of me not to invite you inside.' Laurence replied coolly.  
'Not to sound like a whiny little kid, but what if I decline and just set up my tent?' Nathan queried.  
'I insist.' Laurence said evenly.  
'I still plan on sleeping out here.' Nathan replied equably. 'Just let me get my guitar and slip into something a little more presentable.' He said.  
'You do realise that your clothing is a little outdated fashion wise,-even if it is from the opposite end of time from the usual sense of the expression?' Enquired Laurence.  
'I can still manage to look like less of a country boy and more of an intellect,-It's all in how you carry yourself.' Nathan replied from Temeraire's other side as he pulled himself into his last fresh change of clothes:

A pair of black cargo pants,-this time with a white heraldic device with no discernible purpose but to act as decoration tattooed onto one leg,- a white shirt dyed with a blue criss-cross pattern, and a dark brown leather jacket with cream and maroon stripes down the arms.  
Last of all, he went to a shallow pond and wet his hands, styling his hair as well as he could,-flattening it, and teasing the fringe from his brow, then fished out a small container from his bag, opened it and donned the final part of his ensemble:  
A pair of rimless, square-lensed glasses with flex-metal arms. Reading glasses he hadn't been using recently.  
Next, he crossed to Temeraire's chest and fished his guitar case from his improvised belly-rigging.

'I can't say there's much difference.' Laurence noted as he examined Nathan.  
'Just wait until there's a bit more light; hopefully I'll look sharp enough to avoid ridicule; and if not, I can always just earn some respect as a musician.' Nathan replied with more optimism than he felt, hefting the heavy guitar case.

* * *

The footman who met them at the door stared openly and curiously at Nathan, and Nathan thought he read superiority in the man's eyes, but he put it down to how self-conscious he was feeling,-it must've showed.

Sure, he felt the fashions of the eighteenth and nineteenth, and indeed the early twentieth century were overblown and ridiculous, but his oversight in not acquiring any new clothes was beginning to seem less like a matter of taste, and more like a matter of bad judgement on his part.  
At that moment, he only hoped there'd only be one knife, one fork and one spoon to contend with.

The footman returned, and asked, rather formally of Nathan:  
'May I take your suitcase, sir?'  
'It's not a suitcase, it's an instrument case.' Nathan replied.  
'Mr. King plans to provide this evening's entertainment in return for a meal.' Laurence provided of his own accord, for which Nathan was grateful. He was still irked that he was about to be put into so awkward a situation, but at least Laurence had the decency to mitigate it.  
'Right, if you'll just wait here, sir.' Said the footman, before heading in.'

Nathan set the guitar case down and proceeded to lean on it.  
'Don't mind me.' Nathan said, casting a look at Laurence.  
'I think I will mind you actually.' Laurence said, licking his lips apprehensively. 'If I leave you to your own devices I'm afraid you'll mortally offend half the people present; and considering the fact this is almost certainly a house party, the thought positively fills me with dread. The fact that you look positively outlandish doesn't help matters either.' He added.

'Okay, how badly do I stick out?'  
'Like a black fellow in the King's court.'  
'I thought that'd already been done?'  
'Maybe so, but whatever impression you were trying to convey, I can assure you that you've only managed to make yourself look downright outlandish.'  
'Good thing my being a gentleman is debatable then,-and look on the bright side: you won't be as conspicuous in your dress uniform.'  
Laurence grimaced.  
'Please don't-'  
'Just because I'm socially inept, doesn't mean I'm retar-' Nathan caught himself, '-doesn't mean I'm an idiot.' He amended.  
'I'm beginning to think I should've just left you to your own devices for the evening.'  
'Too late now; just pray that people are in the mood for some music.'

The footman returned.  
'Lord Allendale bids you welcome, I take it you would care to change before you join the company?' He asked.  
'This is the best I can do, I'm afraid.' Nathan said, shifting self-consciously.

The footman tactfully said nothing.  
'Very well, if you would please follow me.' Nathan hefted his case again as the footman lead him into the house, leaving a nervous looking Laurence to go and change into something less conspicuous than Nathan's current raiment.

* * *

_Now, am I going to die on stage, or am I just going to _die_?_ Nathan wondered sardonically, as he made a stiff bow to a man he was introduced to as 'Lord Allendale.'

Of course, that wasn't then end of it.  
No, then he was introduced to the man's wife, who at least wasn't attempting to stare a hole through him, even f she did look at him oddly.  
After what seemed like a brief eternity, the introductions were done, and Lord Allendale deigned to speak directly with him.  
'Tell me, sir, what brings a man, such as yourself, to my home, uninvited and unannounced?'

'My apologies, Captain Laurence was kind enough to offer me passage to Scotland, as he was heading there himself with his dragon for training; As I was heading there myself, I accepted. If I had've had any idea that it'd land me in circumstances such as this, without either introduction or proper attire, I'd have walked instead.' Nathan replied, cursing his lack of knowledge of social niceties, and hastily cobbling together his reply based on scraps of knowledge picked up from _Master and Commander, Treasure Island,_ and a few other stories he'd read or seen that were based around the early nineteenth century.

Lord Allendale's look probably would've made Louise,-Nathan's other younger brother, a young man more interested in history and literature than socialising, and even more socially inept than Nathan was,-fidget uncomfortably, despite the fact he couldn't read body language to save his life.

'And what, pray tell, do you intend to _entertain_ us with tonight?' He questioned, clearly, to draw the attention of his various guests.  
Nathan had been furiously thinking all the while he'd been waiting for the footman's return to try and find an answer to that very question, and only now, here, in front of all these people did he find something he felt he could get away with as an ice-breaker.  
'Amazing Grace. Though, maybe a little different to the usual version.' He answered confidently.

Getting no response either way, he hefted his guitar case once more and went and stood beside the fire, in full view of everyone before making himself busy tuning the instrument to his satisfaction.  
When he was done, he stood and noted that Laurence had joined the company, and like them was watching him sideways while the rest of the evening's distractions went on.

He strummed the strings of his guitar, then began to play, before launching into the lyrics, in a slower, more serious tone than when he'd sung aboard the _Reliant_, or practiced on his own at the cottage on Madeira:

'_Amazing grace, how sweet the sound, that saved a wretch like me, I was lost, but now am found, was blind, but now I see.'  
_Privately, as he sung, he was pleased to see the arrogant superiority, disdain and covert stares die away to be replaced by something akin to genuine interest.

By the time he was finished, he was fairly certain that the company were willing to forget his clothes, just so long as he kept playing.  
As the final notes died away, a polite applause went up.  
He waited for it to die off a little, before he spoke.

'Thank you, thank you.' He said, looking around the room, speaking clearly. If he was going to be an entertainer for the evening, he might as well do it properly. 'For those of you whom do not know me, I am Nathan King, and I'll be providing some music tonight, which I can be tolerably certain most of it you'll have never heard before; with that in mind, I have a question I'd like to put to you fine folk:'  
He looked around, and was relieved to see he did have the attention of a good few guests, and even Lord Allendale looked interested despite himself.

'What's the most gloomy thing you've ever heard of?'  
This question took everyone off guard, but a sandy-haired man of about thirty answered him all the same:  
'Romeo and Juliet.' He said.  
Nathan nodded equably.  
'Yes, Shakespeare had a tendency towards that sort of thing.' Nathan agreed with a nod. 'But, I think I know something that tops that.' He added, strumming the chords once again, before beginning:  
'_It's lonesome away, from your kindred and all, by a campfire at night, where the wild-dogs call, but there's nothing so lonesome, morbid or drear, than to stand in the bar, of a pub with no beer…'_

If his first song hadn't caught their attention, this one certainly did: outlandish subject material, a simple, easy beat and,-so far as they knew,-completely new and original.  
As he finished, he looked around and saw something dangerous on many of the company's faces: curiosity.

There was more polite applause, which died away quickly.  
'Wherever did you learn that song?' Asked a young lady somewhere near the middle of the table curiously.

_When I was twelve, in my room, practicing the chording until I could keep up with a recording._ Nathan thought to himself, smiling at the memory.  
It'd been a cause of much consternation from his two brothers, who had the rooms either side of his.

'On the road.' He said instead.  
'Do you travel much?' Enquired Lord Allendale evidently curious himself.  
Nathan chuckled.  
'A bit more than I care to.' Which was only a half-truth. He liked travelling as much as he liked coming home to his home outside of Geelong, and catching up with friends and family.

Then he decided to take a gamble to try and dispel anymore questions, and with a silent apology to the original writer of the song he had in mind, he said: 'Actually, I've been travelling since I was about sixteen, there's a story behind it, and I've actually written a song about it, but it doesn't really go into specifics, and some of it I've added just because it suited the piece, if you want to hear it.'  
A chorus of affirmatives was his answer, and as he strummed the opening chords, he nearly fumbled it, as he remembered something:

Before he'd left for Switzerland, his mother and father had attempted to talk him out of it, citing the dangers of so untested a procedure, and even his little sister Katherine had attempted to waylay him, by means of taking the solenoid from his car,- he'd been more surprised by the fact that she actually knew enough about engines to actually find and remove it, than that she'd gone to those lengths to try and stop him; It'd taken him the better part of an hour to convince his father to replace the solenoid and let him go.  
And he even recalled the apprehensive look Katherine had given him as he left, and it nearly stopped him as he started to sing again:

'_They had my future wrapped up in a parcel. And no one even thought of asking me. The day I turned fifteen I caught the mail flight, to find what else might be in life for me.'_

The look on Laurence's face was one of grim horror, and Nathan briefly wondered if he'd dared too far. But to stop now would be to imply he actually knew something of the friction between Laurence and his family, and before he could sneak a look at Lord Allendale's reaction, he launched into the next verse:

'_I rode on carts, with caravans, and lived on nothing,'_ he sang, hastily editing in passable substitutions for anachronistic terms, hoping desperately he wasn't fumbling the beat, '_served me right for wanting to be free,'_ he caught a look at the neutral expression on Lord Allendale's face as he kept on playing. Evidently he'd seen a parallel, though Nathan didn't care to hazard how similar the song's scenario was to whatever Laurence had done.  
'_Ah, well that's the way society looked at it. But it didn't seem to be that way to me; And the biggest disappointment in the family was me, the only twisted branch upon our good ol' family tree, I just couldn't be the person they expected me to be, and the biggest disappointment in the world was me.' _He sang the chorus with just the right note of reminiscing bitterness.

_It's a good thing I don't really need anyone to like me, and I was expecting hostility anyway. I might as well just keep playing this charade and see how it goes._ He reflected resignedly, judging that he might indeed have gambled a bit too much, as he strummed a short bridge.

'_A lot more dinnertimes than there were dinners. I learned a lot that hurt me at the time; then this quiet country boy went home a different man, with a memory of distance on my mind. But I always spoke too loud and laughed too often, maybe drank too many glasses down, and perhaps my clothes were older than I realised,-a relief to all concerned when I left town.'_ That at least, was one parallel that wasn't going to be drawn, he was fairly certain, though the song as a whole still probably could be construed as a subtle snub.

Yeah, he'd probably dared a bit too much.

'_And the biggest disappointment in the family was me, the only twisted branch upon our good ol' family tree, I just couldn't be the person they expected me to be, and the biggest disappointment in the world was me. And the biggest disappointment in the family was me, the only twisted branch upon our good ol' family tree, I just couldn't be the person they expected me to be, and the biggest disappointment in the world was me.'_ The song ended abruptly as he strummed the last chord. He lowered the guitar to give his arms a rest, and was relieved to at least get some polite applause as opposed to boos and rotten fruit.

Laurence still looked like he'd seen a ghost, and Lord Allendale's look was reminiscent of a Russian winter.  
'Thank you, sir, that was…a very well conceived song.' Lord Allendale said, coldly polite. 'Please, be seated and have something to eat, then maybe you can share a few more songs with us afterwards,' he added.  
Nathan waved the compliment aside. 'You're too kind, sir.' He replied formally, before placing the guitar gently in its case and closing the lid.

* * *

The food, contraire to what he'd expected, was opulent without being excessive, and the conversation was just how he liked it:  
Minimal.

Laurence, who was seated a couple of places down from him on the opposite side of the table looked like he was having as much fun as he'd had when he'd had to read _Year of Wonders_ for his VCE English in 2011, and looking none too impressed at being largely ignored.

Nathan himself would've loved this treatment, but as he wasn't wearing the clothing of a class of people who were essentially pariahs, he attracted the odd inquisitive question about where he'd travelled, about his family, and other assorted contextually complicated questions.

It was a relief to him when he could get back up and sing, and the first thing he sang was a humorous song by Slim Dusty called _He's a Good Bloke When He's Sober_, which, given the majority of the men had drank enough to see the funny side of things a little, went over well enough to,-he hoped,-slightly overshadow the gambit he'd played earlier.

Then, positively feeling slightly vindictive, Laurence interjected:  
'Sir, you will pardon me, I hope, but, do you know any poetry?' He asked, clearly thinking that Nathan's grasp of this would cause him to founder.  
'Not a lot, no,' Nathan admitted. _At least, not in the sense that I don't want to go having to explain it all._ He added silently. 'But, there is _one_ piece I heard in my travels I took the trouble to memorise. I've even managed to put a tune to it.' He said, again, privately apologising to the band that had originally put the poem to music. 'Would you care to hear it?' He enquired.  
'If you would indulge us.' Laurence said with a nod.

In response, Nathan hefted his guitar once more, and strummed the opening chords:  
'_They lie, the men who tell us, in such loud decisive tone, that want is here a stranger, that misery is unknown, where the nearest suburb and the city proper meet, my windowsill is level with the faces in the street…' _This poem, he was fairly sure wasn't that much of a risk: _Amazing Grace_, was pretty much an unofficial anthem for abolition, considering its author had forsaken the trade to go into the Church, and he hadn't copped any cold looks for it, and _Faces in the Street_ was simply a poem about another form of social justice.  
'…_And so it must be while the world goes rolling 'round this course, that the warning pen shall write in vain, the warning voice grow hoarse, and not until a city feels a revolution's heat, will it's sad people miss awhile the terrors of the street, so they're pouring on, they're marching on, to the drummer's threatening beat, and the war-hymns and the cheering of the faces in the street.'_ Once again the music ended abruptly.

'An intriguing piece,' Lord Allendale said, eyeing Nathan with a look that wasn't cold, or curious, or disdaining. It was calculating, _measuring_, and Nathan got the distinct feeling that maybe he'd piqued Lord Allendale's interest to the point the man might seek to find out more about him.  
It was a remote possibility, but Nathan couldn't think of anything more plausible as to why the man would be giving him so narrow a look.

* * *

After the poem, Lord Allendale suggested they rejoin the ladies, and from there had Nathan recite _Faces in the Street _once again,-though this time he refrained from reciting a few central verses that referenced prostitution and flesh-pots, given the company,- after which Laurence made his excuses and quit the room.

Nathan however, stayed for another couple of songs, namely _Holy Grail_, which he passed off as another song he'd learned 'on his travels' and _Seasons_, which was a bit of a risk, considering the band that had penned it, but it was received with polite applause, and he used it as a closer, so he was able to quit the room before questions were asked about it.

* * *

When he made it to Temeraire's side and threw his Dryzabone over himself as a makeshift blanket, he couldn't help but allow himself a tight smile.  
The evening had been every bit the ordeal he'd imagined, but at least he'd been able to at least save face and avoid open ridicule.

* * *

Laurence meanwhile, couldn't decide whether he wanted to strangle Nathan for his song about running away from home at a young age, or bless him for inadvertently choosing the poem to recite that he had, as it had evidently put wheels turning in his father's head in regards to ideas on how to promote abolition.

'I see, I will go at once then.' He said emotionlessly.  
'What? No, I'm not disowning you, not that you don't deserve it, but I refuse to turn this into a melodrama for the world's benefit. You may stay tonight and depart tomorrow as you said you would. That will do nicely.'

Laurence turned to leave.  
'Where did you find that fellow?' Lord Allendale asked as Laurence reached for the door handle.  
'On Madeira, he had a misunderstanding with one of the press gangs, and I took his part when it became evident they would've beaten him half to death; he volunteered his services in capacity as a hand as a shibboleth to get into the Aerial Corps to avoid any future incidences like; he also agreed to pass on designs for new cannons and rifles he acquired in his travels, if the King and Parliament ratified a set of laws designed to limit civilian casualties and minimise the fallout of wars.' Laurence replied.

Lord Allendale sighed regretfully.  
'A damned waste; he would've made a fine politician, and a potent champion for the cause.' He said, referring to the abolition movement.  
'Indeed, sir; Goodnight.' Laurence replied formally, then left his father to his pondering.

* * *

'Mr King?' Laurence asked, and Nathan stood up.  
'It's not morning already is it?' Nathan asked standing up, and rubbing his eyes.  
In the starlight, he only just barely managed to turn aside Laurence's punch before it would've impacted in his gut.

'Hey, hey, hey, cool it.' Nathan said, springing back and bringing his guard up, only for Laurence's second attempt to take him full in the gut and drop him, winded.  
'Laurence?' Temeraire asked in concern.  
'Don't worry yourself Temeraire, I just think I need to teach Mr. King a short lesson in humility.'

Nathan sucked in two deep, shuddering breaths.  
'If you're…referring to, that song…I sung earlier abut…being a disappointment to my family…I didn't mean to cause trouble.' Nathan ground out as he caught his breath, then stood shakily, and backed off a few steps so he'd have at least a second's warning in case Laurence decided to drop him again. 'I was only trying to discourage questions about my past.' He explained.  
'Well you succeeded.' Laurence said angrily. 'And you managed to point my father in the direction of his own criticisms of my choice of career in regards to the Navy to boot.'

'I'm sorry!' Nathan repeated emphatically. 'In retrospect, I should've just fended the questions off, but it seemed a good idea at the time, and once I started playing, I couldn't stop, or it would've implied I _knew_ there was friction between you and your parents. Honestly, if I knew if it'd cause you that sort of trouble, I wouldn't have sung that song.'

Nathan met Laurence's militant gaze easily.  
Laurence was the first to move, but he didn't break eye-contact.  
'Mr-' he stopped. 'Nathan. In future, you would oblige me greatly, if you refrained from doing something that you think might cause me considerable trouble.' He said.  
Nathan thought about it for a second.  
'Lighten up a bit, and don't put me in an awkward position like that again, and you've got yourself a deal. That sound fair to you?' Nathan asked, extending a hand.

Laurence held out his own hand, but Nathan withdrew for a moment.  
'Don't shake, unless you mean it.' He cautioned.  
Nathan found his hand siezed in a vice-like handshake.  
'Deal.' Laurence said.

'What has you so distressed?' Asked Temeraire, wings half mantled, then swung his head down to regard Nathan suspiciously. 'What have you done to upset Laurence?' Temeraire demanded.  
'I sung a song that was…a little bit too close to reality for people to not draw the parallels…evidently, it caused Laurence a bit of trouble.' Nathan explained cautiously, getting an inkling why most people outside of the Aerial Corps were afraid of dragons.

Temeraire swung his head to Laurence.  
'Was your father angry at our coming?' He enquired, unknowingly impressing Nathan with his perception.  
'It is an old quarrel at heart.' Laurence said heavily, settling himself on Temeraire's foreleg with a horse rug, and handing Nathan his coat as an afterthought. 'He would have had me go into the Church, like my brother; he has never counted the Navy as an honourable occupation.'  
'And is an aviator worse, then?' Temeraire asked, sounding outraged to Nathan. 'Is that why you did not like to leave the Navy?'  
'In his eyes, perhaps, the Corps is worse, but not in mine; there is too great a compensation.' Laurence replied, reaching up to stroke Temeraire's nose.

'Amen.' Nathan said, in a weary, heavy tone as he slumped down in the embrace of Temeraire's arms. 'Try not to crush me tonight would you?' He asked Temeraire, slapping the young dragon's forearm affectionately.

'Did your father not let you sleep inside?' Temeraire questioned, snorting, making trails of vapour, very like smoke trail from his nostrils.  
'I always intended on sleeping out; less servants to deal with.' Nathan replied, shifting slightly.  
'Oh, no,' Laurence said, sounding slightly embarrassed. 'I only I would rather be with you than sleep alone.'  
'So long as you are quite warm.'

_No danger of being cold. He's as good as a radiator._ Nathan thought to himself contentedly as he began to drowse, and Laurence's voice became indistinct.  
As he drifted fully into sleep, he unaccountably felt a deep, aching loneliness, and for the first time in a long time that night, he dreamed. He dreamed of his family.  
Though, that was all he could say for certain.

**Long, long time.**

**Sorry, but, you know, mid-year exams.**

**I hope a long chapter makes up for it.**

**For Story alerting, I'd like to thank: MissDarkAngel1280397, dragonshina, Captiosus, Old Girl Lost, and animelover1993.**

**For the Author Alert, I'd like to thank alexia795.**

**For the Favourite Story adds, I'd like to thank: animelover1993, Punishershadow and Penstriker.**

**Finally, for Reviewing, I'd like to thank: Hideout Writer, JAtkins, dragonshina, animelover1993, silentmidnightdeath and Culebra del Sol.**

**I hope this makes up for my absence.**

'**til next time:**

**No One-liners.**


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